


Now or Never

by radvictoriam



Series: Now or Never [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Character Deaths, F/M, Series, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-11-03 05:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 83,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10960524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radvictoriam/pseuds/radvictoriam
Summary: Uri Sanchez has joined the Brotherhood of Steel in the hope that they may be able to help her pass through the Glowing Sea safely. But, before they can get to that, she has a lot of work to do - she has to prove that she is worthy of her membership with the faction.All she wanted was to find Shaun, but her budding attraction to a certain Elder may make all this more difficult than she had anticipated...





	1. Status Report: SN-111I

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second installment to the Now or Never series. If you haven't already, you're going to want to go and read Wildfire. 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/10921836/chapters/24290583

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 1

Upon our arrival at Cambridge Police station, I ensured our new initiate became familiarised with the perimeter and our team. She shows skill for a wastelander with no prior military experience, but her aim needs work.

Her cardio is beyond expectation - she claims she enjoyed running, ‘back in the day.’ I am yet to figure out what she means by that.

Due to a run-in with Knight Rhys, we have had to incarcerate the Initiate for the night. Scribe Haylen has tended to his broken nose. With stimpacks, this will heal by morning. It seems this wastelander is unfamiliar with the art of discipline.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 2

Upon her release, the Initiate was tasked with scraping the remnants of dead ghouls from within our barricades. She did this without complaint - maybe she learnt from her misconduct yesterday?

Her training went on as normal. This time, there were less complaints. She is an odd woman, sir. She keeps calling me Captain, despite my constant reminder that my rank is Paladin.

-

Fr: Scribe Haylen HN-118FS  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 3

Paladin Danse offered to escort Knight Rhys on a mission today, so he has asked me to update you on Initiate Sanchez until they return.

Today, she wanted a history lesson on the Brotherhood - so I explained our past to her. Oddly, she was amused by this. I have concerns over her disrespect for our organisation, but feel that this can be rectified in time.

Also, she refuses to let me send this message until I tell you that she says “hi.”

-

Fr: Scribe Haylen HN-118FS  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 4

The Initiate’s aim is improving - she has knocked five minutes off of shooting practice, with how fast she hit each target. However, she did hide when a stray feral wandered in. Must have been attracted by the noise.

When the Paladin and Knight return, I will ensure they are made aware of her trepidation. In time, we will send her out with Rhys to ensure this phobia is quashed before it can become a problem.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 5

I have caught up to speed on the Initiate’s progress, and Scribe Haylen has brought to my attention that the Initiate is afraid of ghouls.

I picked up a minor injury on our latest mission, so I had the Initiate test her endurance. It may be important to note that she should not engage with hand-to-hand combat, until someone with more promise in this area is able to train her.

Knight Rhys has a broken jaw to match his broken nose.

-

Fr: Knight Rhys RS-104K  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 6

If I may be so bold, Elder. I do not trust our most recent Initiate to withhold the values you have fought so hard to upkeep.

She is disrespectful, insubordinate and unpredictable. It makes me wonder whether we should be so trusting of wastelanders. Her fear of ghouls is unjust - when asked to expand on why she dislikes them, she told me that ‘they remind her too much of zombies.’

Do you have any knowledge on what zombies are, sir?

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 7 (only 7? Feels like day 283)

Initiate Sanchez, here.

Knight Rhys decided to let me tag along on a cleansing mission - and we almost died. I just wanted to let you know that, should he try and tell you otherwise, I had to haul his ass out of the local hardware store. Imagine - without me, the Brotherhood would be an Elder and a Knight down.

You’re welcome.

-

Fr: Knight Rhys RS-104K  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 7 cont.

Elder,

I would like to add to the Initiate’s report by ensuring you that we would not have been in any real danger if she had not engaged the super mutants without checking the perimeter, first. She needs work on her common-sense. Consider it done.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 7: final

I would like to apologise on behalf of team Gladius, Elder Maxson. I had not known I was working with children, but I am grateful that both Initiate Sanchez and Knight Rhys have finally deemed it suitable to make me aware of this.

There will be no need for an update tomorrow - the pair of them will spend it scrubbing the police station floors.

-

Fr: Scribe Haylen HN-118FS  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 9

Today, the Initiate joined me as backup for a small mission involving the safe retrieval of a haptic drive from College Square Station. She took a good half of the ghouls down herself - it seems she is getting over her phobia. I am pleased with her progress, and with how she willingly obeyed every order I issued her with.

Off the record, sir - Knight Rhys is biased. I would not place trust in everything he says about Sanchez. She shows real promise and determination, even if she is a handful at times.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 10

Today, the Initiate approached me to apologise for her childish behaviour. It seems that something has finally shifted in her, for she is putting much more effort into her training. Her aim continues to improve by the day, and she has expressed a desire to improve her upper body strength. We will begin working on improving her muscle mass tomorrow.

-

Fr: Knight Rhys RS-104K  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 11

It is with some relief that I can report on the Initiate’s progress. She is finally showing some respect for the Brotherhood’s ways, and has managed to lift weights far heavier than we had anticipated for someone of her calibre.

However, whilst I type this, she is trying to steal a snack cake from the Paladin.

-

  
Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 12

I am pleased to inform you that the Initiate’s aim is now beyond satisfactory. She is hitting each target in excellent time, and is growing increasingly more comfortable with using laser weapons as opposed to her pre-war 10mm pistol.

Her cardio is also improving - she has asked me to inform you that she beat Knight Rhys in a race, today. Much to my annoyance, she refuses to tell me where she has stored Righteous Authority until I did so.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 12: Uri’s edit

He called his gun Righteous Authority, Elder. And now he is trying to argue that that’s a better name than Buster.

I told him you prefer Buster.

-

Fr: Scribe Haylen HN-118FS  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 13

The Initiate has not taken part in any training, today, as she has come down with a rather horrible fever. I have administered Med-X at a low dose to help with the aches, and given her liquid nutrients after she has been unable to keep any food down for longer than ten minutes.

Whether the Paladin likes it or not, I have ordered her to remain on bed rest today and tomorrow.

-

Fr: Knight Rhys RS-104K  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 14

Elder,

Whilst the Initiate is on bed rest, I would like to inform you that she has managed to be a bigger nuisance to our missions than when she is fit-and-well. Despite our assurances, Scribe Haylen has refused to leave her side. She was supposed to retrieve a flux sensor, today. This will set us back in the long run.

Despite her complaints, the Intitiate’s status has improved. She is now able to consume solid food and walk around long enough to steal my holotags.

She won’t tell me where they are until I give her a Nuka Cola.

-

Fr: Elder Maxson, MX-001E  
To: Knight Rhys RS-104K

Re: Day 14

Initiate Sanchez,

Let this be your final warning. If you continue to blackmail by soldiers, I will ensure that you’re on dishwashing duty for an entire month upon your return to the Prydwen.

-

Fr: Knight Rhys RS-104K  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Re: Re: Day 14

Sanchez, here.

There’s this old saying from my time - snitches get stitches. I’m tempted to give Knight Rhys just that… But I’ll be good. Only for you.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 15

Today, I have duct taped the Initiate’s mouth shut.

Now, it is not something I would typically do. But she would not stop listing off every illicit word in the English language to describe how attractive she finds you, Elder.

You may find comfort in my assurance that she is only saying this to irritate us.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 16

The Initiate carried out her first cleansing mission alone, today, and did so exceptionally. She has even managed to retrieve a pre-war document that may be of interest to Proctor Quinlan.

She has told me to tell you that she is most proud of the fact that she found a vending machine full of Nuka Cola. What an odd name for these pre-war contraptions.

-

Fr: Knight Rhys RS-104K  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 17

SHE KISSED ME?

WHY DID SHE KISS ME, ELDER? DOES THIS NOT GO AGAINST EVERY RULE IN OUR BOOKS?

She is still laughing about it, now. Even the Paladin is amused. With how I currently feel, I would appreciate it if you would consider moving me onto another team.

-

Fr: Scribe Haylen HN-118FS  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 18

Elder, I think something is wrong with the Initiate.

She keeps trying to seduce the Paladin, sir. Much to his disdain. I have made her aware of our code of ethics - but I feel there is no real need to do so or worry about this. Her advances seem to be going straight over the Paladin’s head.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 19

We have lost the Initiate.

I cannot lie - I am becoming increasingly concerned. She is many things, but a coward is not one of them. Hopefully she returns soon.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 19: cont.

We have found the Initiate.

She went to find cigarettes, and did not think that we would ‘be so melodramatic as to think she had ran away.’

Honestly.

-

Fr: Scribe Haylen HN-118FS  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E  
Day 20

The Initiate is settling in wonderfully, despite her flaws. She has an exceptional knowledge of the area - I feel that this may benefit Proctor Quinlan for future retrieval-based missions.

Today, she lead me to an old lab in which we found (and successfully retrieved) a piezonucleic power armour chest piece. I have had to hide this from the Paladin, and will be handing it over to Proctor Ingram - along with its technical documents - upon our return.

-

Fr: Knight Rhys RS-104K  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 21

The Initiate has become more bearable, and has even apologised for the unwanted kiss. Apparently it was an odd experiment - and whatever it was, it failed.

Today, she has been distant - and keeps muttering something about it being some kids birthday. Think she said their name was Shaun? That aside, our cleansing mission went very well. She managed to take the mutants down faster than usual, though it was clumsier than normal.

-

  
Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 22

Today, I have assigned the initiate with a cleansing mission - and will continue to do so until you request that we return to the Prydwen.

She has gone through fantastic improvements, during her time here. Although she is still mischievous at times, she never lets this get in the way of her missions. And, dare I say it, this has become a quality of hers that Scribe Haylen and I find we enjoy.

In terms of any future promotion - I would like to put her forward as a knight. Although she has shown an interest in retrieval missions, I feel that a knighthood would be more ideal for Sanchez in the long-run. She is feisty, determined and extremely capable. I am grateful to have been chosen as her mentor.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 23

Initiate Sanchez’s cleansing mission of the day was a success. A pack of feral ghouls have now been cleared from a local fraternal post.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 24

Initiate Sanchez’s cleansing mission of the day was a success. A raider gang have now been cleared from a local factory.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 25

Today, the Initiate joined Scribe Haylen on another retrieval mission. Sadly, the Institute seem to have got to the tech before we did. They managed to take down the Gen-1 synths still present, but both have returned with minor injuries.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 26

Hi, Elder.

Rhys is on night watch, and Haylen and Danse are asleep. I should be asleep, too. But I had a nightmare - it’s left me shaken. You were kidnapped by the Institute. I was trying to make a deal to get you back, but they were telling me I could have Shaun instead. I kept telling them no, but every time I did they killed another soldier… Danse, Haylen, Friar - even Rhys (I know, I was as shocked at being upset over that as you probably are reading this).

I hope you’re well.

Sanchez.

-

Fr: Scribe Haylen HN-118FS  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 27

Sanchez slept badly last night, but the stimpack helped heal her wounds. I have advised that she stays off of any cleansing missions for today. Instead, I taught her the best way to clean a laser weapon. She tested this on Buster.

-

Fr: Knight Rhys RS-104K  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 28

She has done well in today’s cardio - despite my personal opinion of her, this Initiate is proving her worth day-by-day. I would rather she left, but I imagine she would be eligible for a promotion in due course.

-

Fr: Paladin Danse DN-407P  
To: Elder Maxson MX-001E

Day 29

Sanchez continues to improve, but is growing restless. She does not like the station - and I feel that this may no longer be the best place for her. With your permission, Elder, I would like to ask for a vertibird at 1300 hours so that I may escort the Initiate back to the Prydwen.

-

Fr: Elder Maxson MX-001E  
To: Paladin Danse DN-407P

Day 30

Your request has been granted. I want you to report to me upon your arrival.

Ad victorium.


	2. Trail Still Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uri and Danse are sent in to clear out Fort Strong, and Uri finally divulges more of the truth...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to start off by apologising. I wanted to try and update this fic weekly, but it's not going to be possible.
> 
> I was at the Ariana Grande concert on the 22nd May. I was lucky enough to be too far from the bomb to be injured or see anything, but I was still inside the building at the time. I heard it go off. It shook the building. I honestly thought it was a gunman in my panicked state and thought I was going to be shot. It's going to take time to get over it, and it's been making it difficult for me to write. I'm doing better than I was, but it's still hard trying to get back to normal after that.
> 
> So, I'm posting this chapter without any real edit. I don't want to keep everyone waiting. I still have a few other chapters prepped, so I'm hoping posting this will give me some inspiration again. I hope you enjoy!

By the time they reach the Prydwen, the clear blue skies of that morning have morphed into a rainy afternoon. The downpour soaks her to the bone - again, she finds herself hating vertibirds. The pilot docks the ‘bird with ease and, this time, Uri climbs off the machine as instructed by her superiors. 

A small team of scribes meet them, upon their departure, to take their collected artifacts to Quinlan. Danse seems to know a few, so she hangs on for a moment to let him chat to them. She still finds it as hard as the first time to look down at what her broken home has become.

They are led up to where their Elder is - stood gazing down at the Commonwealth from his observation deck. Uri knows it’s ridiculous, considering they had only travelled together for a week at most, but she missed him.

“Elder Maxson,” Danse murmurs, announcing their arrival.

“Good afternoon, Paladin. Initiate,” He offers Uri a formal nod, barely sparing her a glance, “welcome back.”

“Good to be back,” Danse admits.

“Please, debrief me on your achievements whilst at the station. I received your team’s updates, of course, but I would like to be debriefed in person.”

Danse does all the talking, leaving Uri feeling rather lost. He notifies the Elder of any gains and achievements, leaving out the negatives that he had read in their reports. When Danse has finished catching him up to speed, Maxson nods.

“Job well done, Paladin. I expect to see you both on the flight deck at oh-eight-hundred hours, tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

Uri had been hoping to catch him on his own, for a moment, but his dismissal leaves her feeling rather jarred. Whilst she tries to consider what this means, she follows the Paladin as he dispatches from his power armour in his own quarters. She hasn’t seen him out of it often - he’s all tall and muscular, like everyone else in this damn place.

The mess hall is fairly empty. Though Uri has missed cooked food, she merely picks at her brahmin stew as she settles into a seat beside her Paladin. Alice is already there, sifting through an old math book when they set themselves at her table.

“Good evening, Paladin,” She says politely to Danse, then smiles at Uri, “Sanchez - good to see you back.”

“Glad someone thinks so,” she says sulkily. Alice studies her saddened expression for a moment, then glances at their commanding officer. She sits silently, after that. Waiting until he finishes his food. When he has, he stretches languidly and releases a sigh.

“I’m going to speak to Proctor Ingram. Sanchez, ensure that you are at my quarters by oh-seven-four-five hours. I would like to speak with you before we meet the Elder.”

“Yes, Paladin.”

As soon as he’s gone, Alice turns curious eyes to her fellow initiate.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” She sighs, “Maxson was just… off. He barely looked at me. I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Maybe the reports he was getting on my progress pushed him over the edge?”

“Wait - reports?”

“Yeah,” Uri nods, “Y’know - daily reports on my progress?”

“ _What_? He never asks for anything like that,” She says, eyes wide, “he must really think a lot of you.”

“Apparently not,” the vault-dweller huffs, taking a gulp of purified water to wash away the sudden lump in her throat. “Anyway - it doesn’t matter too much. I’ve made a lot of progress, this past month. I’ll definitely need you to teach me some of those wrestling moves at some point, though.”

“Consider it done,” She beams, but the smile soon melts from her face, “I doubt you’ve done anything bad, Uri. From the look of things, Paladin Danse thinks highly of you.”

“Ha,” She snorts, “You want to see some of those reports…”

-

That following morning, the weather is as miserable as it had been the day before. A thick, damp fog hangs over the Commonwealth, making it look more dreary than usual - something that she had considered to be impossible. Maxson is already there when they arrive, hands clutched behind his back in what she has come to see as his power stance.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, hearing the clang of Danse’s power armour from across the hull. They respond in kind, standing to attention. He turns to them and nods, noting how Uri has started wearing her hair in a high bun as opposed to that lengthy braid. He turns back to the view below.

“Are you ready for your first official assignment, sister?”

“What do you have in mind?” she responds, quipping a brow.

“The kind of assignment where all of your training finally begins to pay off,” he smirks, but his eyes are full of a vicious sort of glee that sends a worried shiver down her spine. “Let's get right to it then, shall we?”

“Take a look over there,” Maxson turns away from them again, hands coming to rest on the barricade separating them from the deathly drop to the ground below. Uri steps forward to join him, squinting against the fog - she can just make out the silhouette of an island. “That’s Fort Strong, and it’s infested with Super Mutants. Having those aberrations close enough to smell is making me sick to my stomach. To make matters worse, they are sitting on top of a massive stockpile of Fat Man shells we could use in our campaign. I want _you_ to head over there, wipe out everything that moves, and secure that stockpile. Understood?”

“Consider it done, Elder,” Danse nods. But Arthur knows Danse would walk into a burning, nuclear stockpile on his orders. The Elder’s eyes are on Uri and Uri alone.

“Piece of cake,” she says, her stubbornness shining through as she puffs out her chest. Arthur considers her a moment - thinks of the promises he has made, and suddenly the mask of Elder melts away. Her throat tightens in longing, but she holds herself steady.

“Look, I know you’re eager to take the fight to the Institute. But it will have to wait… The Brotherhood cannot allow those abominations to have a nuclear arsenal at their fingertips.”

His voice is soft. It reminds her of that final night they had together - his body warm and tense below her touch, lips timid and gentle until they became fervent with want. Heat tingles in her stomach. She hadn’t realised she had drawn closer, but when he takes a slight step back her cheeks flush with colour.

“It’ll be a pleasure to exterminate that mutant filth!” Danse seethes, in such a manner that Uri’s eyes snap to him. She surprised by the sudden hatred in his gaze; and the utter obliviousness to what he just witnessed.

“We have a vertibird on standby, fully armed and ready to depart. Use it to carry our message to Fort Strong and wipe those dirty mutants from the face of the earth. Dismissed.” He brings his fist to his chest, saluting the Paladin and Initiate in a farewell bid.

“You all set, Initiate?”

“When have I ever _not_ been?” She asks in mock exasperation, just knowing that he’s rolling his eyes behind the helm of his armour. Despite his distance, Maxson watches their camaraderie with interest. Despite the annoyance in many of his reports, it seems that the Paladin has grown fond of their new Initiate. He thinks of the entry from Haylen, in which she had stated Sanchez was flirting with Danse. The thought makes his skin crawl - so he tucks it away with everything else that leads him to drink.

“Take the minigun,” Danse instructs - watching Uri’s eyes light up at the prospect. He smirks. “Death from above - it’s the _only_ way to fly!”

“Welcome aboard, Gladius soldiers. Instruments are green… and we’re cleared for release.” As the vertibird dispatches from its hold, the Lancer-Initiate’s voice booms through the speakers around them. The engines of his ‘bird whir to life, and soon after its propellers are whipping up a storm. Uri clutches onto the minigun, trying not to put labels to any torn-down places in Boston commons.

“Having the Prydwen moored above the airport keeps the Brotherhood within striking distance of the city,” Danse explains, only adding to Uri’s discomfort. She gazes down at the scribe initiates whilst they train, her stomach lurching uncomfortably as motion sickness begins to kick in.

Uri remembers Nate mentioning this place, a few times. Soldiers receiving T-51 armour would sometimes be brought here to test out their new battle toys. A makeshift town lays in ruins on the barracks, all of which lead to the great fortress looming a short distance up the road. Three super mutants and behemoth on the outside have noticed them. 

“Target acquired,” the Lancer-Initiate calls, “I’ll try keep them in your sight.”

She hasn’t used a minigun since her Minutemen rescue in Concord. Back then, the oversized gun had reminded her of what an ant wrestling a lion might feel like - but now, attached to the vertibird, the weapon is steadier. Along with the improvements to her strength, she is able to aim at the mutants with only slight difficulty.

The bullets fly from the gun like lightning; the thunderous roar and whir of the revolver is like music to her ears as she takes the first mutant down. The behemoth lets out a mighty growl and reaches for a huge rock out of its shopping cart-turned-backpack.

“Watch out!” Danse shouts, but there is not much they can do. Uri leaves the gun to cool for a moment before firing it back up, pointing directly at the behemoth. It’s absolute chaos - she doesn’t realise she’s screaming until she stops firing. The giant, deadly mass falls flat on its face, sending its rocks scattering across the ground.

“Primary target down!” The Lancer-Initiate whoops, “Look at that thing bleed! I’m going to find a place to set her down and then hightail it back to the Prydwen for repairs.” 

They work together to take the remaining super mutants down - Danse engages a few in combat, whilst Uri uses the remaining bullets in the minigun to mow at least five of them down. With them taken care of, she hops off the ‘bird and double checks her fusion cell’s charge.

“Outstanding!” Danse bellows, “Now - we need to secure the armoury!” 

“Sure thing, Cap! Ready when you are!”

The road leading up to the fort is strewn with the bodies of mutants and the rubble from various, derelict buildings. She is careful not to trip as she pushes forward, setting off into a jog as they draw nearer. The geiger counter on her pip-boy clicks softly - she makes a mental note to remain vigilant, but knows that rads this low are not anything to worry about too much.

The inside reeks of rotting wood and dust. Various meat bags are scattered throughout the building - all of which add a fleshy stench to the already vile concoction of smells. Uri fights back her need to gag and pushes through the door to her right, instantly locking herself in battle with two more mutants. Her speed is a huge advantage - she takes them both down before they have time to lift their sledgehammers. Gunshots from the left of the building have her peering around the corner, just in time to see a mutant’s head explode from a well-placed shot to the head by the Paladin.

They stumble their way through the rest of the building - Danse takes the lead, and no super mutant they come across stands a chance. He takes on the rest of a group that have gathered around the power core of the building, and Uri stands by the shells they were sent to secure. They lay like jigsaws in their crates, slightly rusted but as useful as ever.

As they wave down another vertibird, Danse removes his armour’s helm.

“This place… You must hate mutants as much as I do.”

“I don’t hate _them_ \- just the idea of them carrying around mini nukes.”

“Well, whatever your reasons, you did well today. You have made much progress, Initiate...” Danse glances around; eyes hardening as he takes in the bloated, mutated bodies of the once-beings around them. “These monstrosities are just another example of man blindly taking a step forward; only to wind up stumbling two steps back. I’ve been fighting for _years_ \- trying to put a stop to this madness. And just when I thought we were getting the upper hand - along come the synths.”

“I’ve seen what these super mutants do to people,” he continues. “Can you _imagine_ what the synths would do to us if they ever got the upper hand? It’d be armageddon repeated. Maybe even the end of everything we hold dear...” He notices the disgruntled look on her face and sighs. The Paladin’s eyes become slightly colder as he carries on. “I don’t mean to bore you with my rhetoric. I just want you to _understand_ how important these missions are.”

“I appreciate it, Paladin. But I must ask you to stop with the preaching.”

“Alright - alright. I’ll stop. What’s important for now is that you got the job done and secured those warheads. You should head back up to the Prydwen and talk to Maxson. I’m sure he’ll want to debrief you as soon as possible. Dismissed.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ll be up in a while. I’m going to help the scribes when they arrive.”

The adrenaline is still coursing through her when she arrives back at the ship, and she can think of at least 10 things she would rather do than go and see Maxson. He’s waiting on the observation deck, as usual, when she enters.

“Outstanding work at Fort Strong, soldier,” he says in a way of greeting, offering her an impressed nod.

“What happens with it now?” She murmurs, watching as he turns from the view. She is completely dishevelled - covered in mutant blood, dust and grime.

“Paladin Danse is supervising the transfer of the Fat Man warheads to the Prydwen... They’ll provide quite the edge to our arsenal. I’ve also ordered a detachment to occupy the location and use it as a staging area to protect the eastern side of the airport. All-in-all, you handed us quite a valuable location… And that’s why I’d like to grant you to the rank of Knight.”

“What?” She blinks, eyes widening as she takes this in, “you mean - I’ll get power armour?”

“Of course,” he rolls his eyes - a slip in his commanding demeanour. “I would also like to give you these,” he gestures to a box sat on one of the deck’s couches. She heads over to it, peeling the lid off to glance inside.

“What are they?”

“Signal grenades. In order to bring the Institute to its knees, we’re going to need every weapon at our disposal. I try to supply my soldiers with the best. That’s why I’m giving you these. These grenades can call a vertibird to your location when you need aerial transport. Simply throw one to the ground, and a vertibird will hone in on the electromagnetic smoke it emits. Once you’re aboard, use the map on your pip-boy to interface with the pilot’s navigation system, so they’ll be able to take you to wherever you need.”

“Thanks, Elder,” She murmurs. Uri had admired the detailing of the grenade as he spoke, but of course - that isn’t enough for her. She begins tossing it like a ball in the air. Arthur steps forward, catching it before she gets the chance to herself.

“They are not toys, soldier. _Please_.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

He holds the grenade out to her and she takes it; the way her fingers brush against the warmth of his palm leaves her skin tingling. If it has the same effect on him, he doesn’t show it. He’s as unreadable as she’s ever seen him.

“Now, I’m sure you’re aware Fort Strong was simply the first step towards the liberation of the Commonwealth. An even greater task lies ahead. As you know, we are here for the same reason you are - the Institute.”

“Actually, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about…” She pauses, watching his eyes grow curious. “I’m sorry, I would have told you sooner. But I didn’t want you to think I was using you, or anything...”

“Go on,” He prompts.

“So, before we met, I was actually looking for something… Someone? I don’t know. Anyway. I’ve been out of the vault for six months, now. Valentine helped me track and kill Kellogg. I put you under the impression that our trail went cold… It didn’t.”

“So - you lied _again_?”

That cold facade of Elder falters again, giving way to annoyance as he glowers down at her. She shakes her head.

“Arthur, I couldn’t tell you at the time. I never planned to keep this from you forever. If I did, I wouldn’t be here now.”

“ _Elder_ ,” He barks, shocking her slightly. “Continue.”

“Right,” She mutters sourly, “So the trail is still hot… The thing is, it involves me heading into the Glowing Sea-” his eyes widen “-basically, one of the Institute’s scientists escaped. I don’t know the full details as to why, but I do know that he infected himself with the F.E.V virus to ensure his survival out on ground zero. 

“Why would _anyone_ want to do that?” He asks, voice shaking slightly in disgust, “And - what? You want to head out there? You want to find him?”

“I don’t want to,” She shakes her head, eyes filling with fear, “I can’t think of anything I’d rather _not_ do. But I have to - I have to speak with him. He knows how to get into the Institute, sir. If anyone knows their location - it’s him.”

Arthur considers her for a moment, letting himself take this in. If this scientist-turned-mutant really is their only chance, then they must pursue it. He hates the thought of asking such filth for assistance, but he is tactical enough to understand that it would be foolish to let this opportunity go. Equally, he hates the thought of sending her - of all people - out there… But if anyone is accepting enough of species considered non-human, it’s Uri. He knows no one else in the Brotherhood could resist shooting a mutant on sight. Especially one from the Institute.

Damn it all.

“Knight Daniels?”

“Yes, Elder?”

“Please will you retrieve Proctors Ingram and Quinlan, for me? Ask them to meet me in my quarters.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Come on,” he says to Uri - leading the way out. She picks up her box of grenades and follows, climbing down the ladder after him to the main deck.

His private quarters are far from what she had envisioned. She assumed he’d have some sort of huge room like the observation deck. Instead, his space is nothing but modest - an old table and plastic chairs sit in the middle of the room a terminal behind it. The desk it sits on is covered with various bottles of alcohol. There are two chests of metallic drawers for what little belongings he has, and a plain looking mattress on an iron frame for a bed. The only sight of any luxury is a copy of the Guns and Bullets magazine sat on the table before her.

“Please, sit.”

Uri does as he asks, letting him take the box of grenades and place them atop a set of drawers. She watches him do so, and takes his appearance in properly for the first time since getting back… And purses her lips in frustration.

“You look exhausted,” She notes.

“I appreciate the concern, Knight. But I am fine.”

“Arthur…”

“It’s _Elder_ ,” He snaps. A flare of anger burns at her throat - her heated response crawls out before she can stop it.

“Really? What, did you send me away to remind me of my place or something? Did I get too close? Do you consider that a weakness, _sir_?” 

“ _Silence_ ,” he growls, turning a fierce glare on her. He can see her grinding her teeth as she contemplates a response. Whatever that may be, it’s too late. They are disturbed by a knock at the door.

“Enter,” he calls. Just like that, his anger is replaced by that same, cool exterior. Uri balls her hands into fists at her knees, forcing a neutral expression on her face.

“Elder,” Quinlan nods, then takes a seat opposite Uri. Ingram enters afterwards - she is forced to stand. Her power armour would probably break the Elder’s chairs, so she doesn’t bother trying to join them.

“Apologies for the disturbance, Proctors. But I have called you both to discuss an urgent matter… It seems our newest Knight may have found a way into the Institute.”

Their gasps of _what_ and _oh my_ are quickly cut off by a raise of Maxson’s hand. He turns to Uri.

“Knight - please debrief the Proctors.”

Uri feels like he’s just placed her on stage in front of hundreds. A blush colours her cheeks; she coughs to shift the sudden lump in her throat.

“Alright… Well, before I found the Elder, I had been looking for the Institute myself. They took someone important to me - I want that someone back. Word is that a scientist managed to escape their lair - he infected himself with the F.E.V virus and is hiding in the Glowing Sea.”

“You’re sure this intel is correct?” Quinlan asks, voice laced with doubt.

“Sorry, Elder. But this is… She just got here, and now we’re expected to fly into a nuclear hellscape? With nothing but her word as evidence.” 

“ _We_ would not be doing anything,” Maxson says, shaking his head, “Sanchez would head in there with Paladin Danse, should he agree to the task.”

“ _Maxson_ ,” Ingram snaps, “Forgive me, but this is ridiculous. I am not preparing soldiers to waltz into ground zero without evidence we can trust more than a rookie’s word.”

“ _Why_ the _hell_ would I lie about this?” Uri seethes, throwing her chair back as she stands, “Do I _look_ stupid to you? Do you really think I want to march in there out of _boredom_?”

“ _Sanchez_ , stand _down_ ,” Maxson growls. She turns to him, angry tears pooling in her eyes. She looks like she wants to hit him, but clearly sees that doing so would be a terrible idea. She bows her head, clutching at the table for a moment as she recollects herself.

“Apologies, Proctor,” she murmurs, meeting the older woman’s eyes. “I can assure you, my intel is trustworthy and correct. Sadly, I cannot go into more depth. I’m just going to have to need you to trust me.”

“To gain that, you need to give me sufficient proof that I can put my trust in you,” Ingram says, “Elder - with your permission, I would like to borrow the new Knight for a few days.”

“Granted,” Maxson nods, “Proctor Quinlan - do you have any information on the Glowing Sea?”

“I-I’m afraid not, sir.”

“With all due respect,” the Elder grimaces, “I do not appreciate your lies. Especially from someone of your rank. I am perfectly aware of the missions you have sent scribes on - against my direct orders, may I add. I would like any and all intel you have on ground zero in these quarters by morning. Dismissed.”

After her initial meeting with Quinlan, it’s nice to see his feathers ruffled. The older man’s face is blotchy with colour as he leaves; ignoring the amused chuckle from Ingram as she follows. When they’re out of range, Uri closes the door and turns back to the Elder. He’s watching her with that same, unreadable expression.

“I won’t demand an explanation, as your subordinate. But I feel that I’m _owed_ one, at least.”

“In regards to?” He asks, reaching for one of the half-full bottles of vodka on his desk. She decides to turn a blind eye to it.

“The way you’re treating me, _obviously_. You’re many things. Stupid isn’t one of them - so don’t play dumb with me.”

“You are pushing past boundaries you are in no position to force your way through,” He gruffs, falling back into his chair. She is thrumming with energy - clearly, a lot of it is leftover adrenaline from her mission earlier. Uri is channeling this into her anger, so it comes as no shock when she throws her fist down against the tabletop.

“Why are you _doing_ this?” Uri yells, “Just fucking _talk_ to me, damnit! Tell me _why_ you’re suddenly…”

“Suddenly _what_ ?” Arthur snarls, “acting as a commanding officer as opposed to a _friend_ ? Because, _Knight_ , I am your commanding officer. I have to be.”

“What does that even mean?” She laughs - the sound is without humour. “So - what, I’m meant to act like all that time… That _night_ … None of it happened?”

“A line in the sand,” He nods, shotting more vodka to mask the way his throat clenches against the words.

She knew as well as he did that it would have to be this way, but some part of her had hoped… She doesn’t know what for exactly, but maybe it hoped things could be different. That they could keep whatever was blossoming between them secret. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. Uri can see that, now. The urge to cry is becoming too strong to bear, so she reaches into her back pocket and slams the crumpled paper onto the table.

“Fine - Elder. If that’s what you want. _Fine_.”

With a snatch of the grenade box, she storms out of the room. Arthur stares down at the paper, wondering why his anxiety over the thing between them is still present. Even now, when it’s over… 

He sighs and tosses his head back to drink his fill. Hopefully he can fix this some other time.


	3. Knighthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To prove she is worth any investment of Ingram's time, Uri has to work under the stern Proctor for a couple of days...

“Good morning,” Danse greets, clapping Uri on the back as he enters the mess hall, “I hear that congratulations are in order?”

“Got that right,” Uri announces, hopping up onto a bench and raising a can of purified water, “Hey - folks! I’m Sanchez, and I just got promoted to knighthood! Toast to me!”

Her boisterous behaviour gains mixed responses - a table of amused knights and a few scribe-initiates give her a quick cheer, whilst those passing by throw disgusted glares her way. The Paladin is far too used to her antics, by now. He doesn’t bother to reprimand her - Danse chooses to take his seat and tuck into his oatmeal, instead. Soon enough, Uri hops down to take a seat beside him.

“So, I’ve been told you will be with Ingram for the next few days?”

“Mhm,” she hums, halfway through a mouthful of her breakfast. Oatmeal made with brahmin milk is incredibly sticky, so it takes a moment for her to elaborate. “Elder Maxson allowed it after Ingram said she needs proof that I’m a trustworthy gal.”

Danse snorts, “You? Trustworthy? I couldn’t trust you with a box of snack cakes…”

“I reject that, Paladin. Remember that time I saved your snack cakes? If it wasn’t for my trusty Buster, those ghouls would’a flattened them.”

“Next time I see Buster, remind me to thank him.”

She nudges him in the side, and Danse chuckles.

“Anyone ever told you your jokes are as bad as your awareness?”

“Awareness?”

Uri rolls her eyes, “Yeah. It’s something you lack, Captain Oblivious.”

Danse shakes his head as she chortles to herself, deciding his oatmeal is more entertaining than she is. It’s then that they hear the telltale clanking of Ingram’s armour stomp closer. Uri shovels the last of her breakfast into her mouth and presses a sticky kiss to the Paladin’s cheek.

“Stop that!” He crows. The words are muffled by his oatmeal.

“See ya round, cutie!” She winks, earning a laugh from a few soldiers who caught the exchange. Ingram raises a curious brow, upon entering the mess hall. It seems everyone knows that incidents of an embarrassed Danse and amused soldiers are coming to be associated with her.

“When you’re done painting the Paladin’s cheeks, Knight. I want you in the armoury.”

“Way ahead of you there, ma’am. After you.”

Ingram rolls her eyes and spins on her armoured heels, and Uri follows her through the short hallway leading to the power armour stations. Uri watches as the Proctor comes to a halt by the first on the left. It’s beautiful - a dull silver tone with the Brotherhood insignia painted on its chest. T-45 armour isn’t all that, but Uri thinks back to that rusty set she used in Concord and beams. It’s still better than nothing - and she supposes it’ll run a lot better with Ingram keeping it up and running.

“It’s a beauty,” Uri crones, stroking one of its arms. She turns to Ingram with a beam on her face, “thank you, Proctor.”

“Take good care of it. From your team’s reports, you don’t seem like the vigilant type. I don’t want to be wasting what little supplies we’ve got on constant repairs...”

“I reject that,” she huffs, “I’m a sniper. I’m stealthy. It just took some time to get used to the Brotherhood’s methods. But, you can rest easy knowing I will look after this baby.”

“Excellent,” she murmurs. “Anyway - Maxson agreed you can work with me, for a few days. I’ve got two jobs for you. Well, I have one, Kells has another.”

“The Lancer-Captain?” Uri furrows her brows, “I’m a talented girl, Proctor. But I can’t fly vertibirds.”

“I think the last thing anyone on this ship would want to do is give you a vertibird,” Ingram scoffs.

“Charming,” Uri mumbles, evoking an amused smirk from her superior.

“I’ve never been known for my kind words. Want someone to dry your eyes? Cade’s your best bet. If not - you know where the door is.”

“I’m not easily offended,” she huffs; folding her arms defiantly.

“Anyway - neither of us are here so I can talk your ear off. To cut a long story short: keeping the Prydwen hovering like this is putting a tremendous strain on the ship’s propulsion systems. I can stay ahead of the repairs, and we have plenty of fuel to keep the fusion reactor sustained, but we’re short on reactor coolant.”

“So, you’re putting me on coolant duty?”

“I’m asking you to take this list and hunt down the necessary ingredients. It may seem like nothing to you, but without this we’re going down. This is a test I’m rooting for you to pass, Knight. Please, try to take this seriously.”

Oddly touched by the Proctor’s faith in her, Uri nods. “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll do my best.”

“Also - find Friar, she can be your backup. She seems to have taken a shining to you. It’ll do her some good to get out in the field. Dismissed.”

Uri finds Alice trying to barter some dandy boy apples from Teagan. When she tells her of their assignment, the youngster’s eyes light up like a kid’s at Christmas. Soon after, they are climbing onto a vertibird and heading down to the airport - the overexcited Initiate having already learnt Ingram’s list off by heart.

“So, where should we start?” Alice asks. Uri begins flipping the dials of her pip-boy, hovering over the map to check for any places of interest.

“Any old truck stops or hardware stores are our best bet. Coverga’s plant would probably have plenty, but it’s too far to travel… What do we have already?”

“There’s always nuclear material stored in the airport, and dirty water is easy enough to come by. Our main focus should probably be on the anti-freeze and gas canister. We can bottle up some sea water when we return.”

As they scour nearby buildings, it dawns on Uri that bringing Alice along is part of Ingram’s test. Empathy is a hard thing to come by in the post-apocalypse; and the Initiate is one of the few soldiers at a higher rank than squire who’s younger than she is. The teenager is wearing combat armour far too big for her - the belts don’t hug her frame, and the helmet keeps tipping off to the side when she turns her head too quick. It’s a painful reminder that this armour was never intended for people of her slight stature.

“Have you been out on many missions?” Uri asks, leading them up to the remnants of an old warehouse. She’s glad Ingram didn’t make her wear her power armour as they creep through the rotting door. Debris litters the worn floors - if anything’s still living in here, it would have alerted them to a new presence immediately.

“A couple. But I was usually with a paladin and other initiates as opposed to a solitary knight.”

“I’ll do my best to keep you in one piece,” Uri promises, though Alice doesn’t seem worried. She offers her commander a quick grin before turning to scavenge whatever is left in one of the old cabinets. Uri follows suit, losing herself to her thoughts.

She can’t help but think about what Alice’s life would be like in the twenty-first century. At sixteen, Uri had still been a high school student. Despite her rebellious streak, she had always loved education. With the exception of English, of course. Her days would be spent at school, and evenings spent either working for the Cabots or doing homework in the garden. Weekends would be spent away from Sanctuary - either illegally drinking in the sleazy speakeasy of Concord or at the house parties of her peers.

As she heads to the next floor, Uri idly stomps the life out of an angry looking radroach. Her life back then wasn’t perfect. She missed her dad so bad she could barely breathe, at times. The political strife was getting more and more worrisome by the day, and she had her chem dealer of an uncle to keep under control. She thinks back to what she had told Arthur - about it being preferable but not better.

Uri thinks that Alice could have been a doctor or a scientist. Under the right circumstances, the youngster would have most likely loved nursing folk back to health or developing weird but wonderful devices. She would have aced her way through school - no mentats required - and gone on to boss her way through college. Despite her shyness, she would have this sort of strength that was unbreakable. Doctor Alice Friar would be a force to be reckoned with. She’d have her own fancy apartment in Boston Commons and work for RobCo or the nearest hospital, making enough money for food and luxuries - but also donating enough to make sure she filled the plates of those less fortunate.

“Found some!” Uri calls, holding up two bottles of anti-freeze. Alice beams, holding up a find of her own.

“Me too! Go us!”

As they head to their next point of interest, Uri’s thoughts draw back to the present day. She could spend forever painting an idyllic life for those around her, but it will never match the reality of their situation. Alice got enough of an education to be able to read, write, speak and be able to recite any and all knowledge of the Brotherhood like she’s a damn encyclopedia. The young girl is still shy, but she is passionate and capable - excellently skilled in hand-to-hand combat and braver than most of the wastelanders she has stumbled across since leaving the vault. Suddenly, Uri feels ashamed. Whilst reminiscing on her old life, she forgot to consider that maybe - just maybe - people are as happy to have their lives just the way they are. Deathclaws, radroaches and all.

Overall, it takes them seven hours to find the necessary ingredients for Ingram’s damn coolant. By the time they get back to the airport, the duo are exhausted. Ingram is on the ground when they get back - much to the disdain of the Elder, according to the argument she is having with Danse.

“If Maxson wants me back on that ship, he can damn well get down here and carry me onto a vertibird himself. I have full respect for the Elder, Danse. But I’ve known him since he was a squire - so he should know that when I have a job to do, I’m going to damn well do it. There’s always risk, as a soldier. This coddling is reminding me of the accident all over again.”

“You’re insufferable,” the Paladin sighs, shaking his head. Before he can complain further, Ingram spots them heading their way.

The airport is as bleak and dismal as every other place in the commonwealth. Considering her pre-war past, this place has always had negative connotations. Uri remembers her tween self walking down the carpeted walkway, looking for the man with eyes as green as her mother’s. She hadn’t slept since the funeral - the pain of losing her last remaining parent, her home and those she held close in one foul swoop blended together in one pitiful ache. Her lungs had felt as broken and stomach as empty as her heart. Her uncle’s pitiful attempt at sympathy made it worse - he had hit the jackpot by taking her in.

He gambled it all away in Vegas within a fortnight.

“Welcome back,” Ingram’s voice breaks her from yet another trip down memory lane. Like the good little soldier she is, Alice brings her hand to her chest in a salute.

“Greetings, Proctor.”

“Proctor,” Uri nods, “We found the stuff you wanted.”

Ingram doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, she begins rooting through their scavenge - so Uri turns her attention back to the airport. A good portion of it caved in, once the bombs fell. She has to give it to the Brotherhood though - they have done the best with what they were given. Any and all secure building space is manned with sentries, and the Prydwen looms like a mockery of hope in the sky. It makes her stomach twinge uncomfortably as she gazes out at the runways. The bombs rendered them as lifeless as everything else - turning the landing strips into graveyards for technology once held dear. It’s both fitting and despicable that Maxson chose for them to settle here. A display of how people have managed to rebuild, but refuse to share their progress with everyone else.

“Well, it all seems to be here,” Ingram says, “Good work, soldiers. Go wash up and get some rest. Friar, you’re wanted in the training gym at oh-eight-hundred hours. Sanchez, Kells expects to see you at twelve noon on the helm.”

-

Arthur’s battlecoat has always been heavy. It’s a virtue of the ballistic weave - the comfortable weight of protection. But never has it felt as heavy as it does as he slides it on now, knowing that he needs to show his face around the Prydwen eventually. The poem he wrote makes his coat feel ten times its weight as he exits his quarters.

The mess hall is as modestly crowded as always - it’s a shame he can never just blend in. He thinks back to his time in Diamond City. Amongst the patchwork huts and uncaring townsfolk, he never got so much as a second glance. As a Maxson, he has never been too fazed by the staring - it’s part-and-parcel of being considered a God amongst your people. He has always made an attempt to crush the radicals when they arose, but never has he hated his namesake - until now.

And then, low and behold, in she walks. One of the initiates tags along beside her, eyes bright as she enthralls Uri with an exaggerated depiction of the Capital Wasteland. Interested, Arthur waits until they are seated before sliding over to their table.

“... And the ferals. If you think it’s bad down there, you should see our subways--oh,” the point at which Alice notices Maxson is palpable, for her cheeks flush pink and her words become scrambled, “E-Elder Maxson, sir. Pleasure to see your- I mean, you.”

“The pleasure is mine, Initiate,” He smiles. It’s only a quip of his lips, but it’s so dazzling to Alice that the initiate looks starstruck. She just nods and hangs her head, eyes settling on her bowl of noodles.

“Elder,” Uri barks, her tone scathing as she fixes him with a glare. “What do you want?”

He pretends he doesn’t notice Alice nudging her side. Her tone has peaked the interest of a couple of the soldiers surrounding them - but he refuses to give her the angry response she craves. Instead, he smiles.

“Knight - I was hoping for an update on the coolant situation. And to see if you know anything of Paladin Danse’s meeting with Proctor Ingram.”

“Sure - we got the ingredients for the coolant, and I believe Ingram said something along the lines of being irritated by the coddling of someone she’s known since they were a squire.”

A few of the soldiers laugh, but a sharp glare in their general direction leads to silence. Arthur grinds his teeth, torn between laying into her for such insubordination and not giving in to what she wants.

“My office, now.”

He marches her in, practically slamming the door behind them. Maxson never really calls knights to his office - they are either wanted for debriefs or punishments. For Sanchez, it’s the latter. And the entire Prydwen knows it.

“I tried to be polite and ignore your goading,” he growls, “but it seems my efforts are futile. I understand you’re upset, but please refrain from undermining my authority in front of my soldiers.”

“Fuck you,” she seethes, anger rolling off her in waves. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head - understanding her anger enough to resist from retaliating in any way.

“Sit down, drink - just, try to calm down before going out there again. Please.”

“Are you serious?” She laughs - the sound is manic, and his brows furrow in confusion. Does she not understand that this is him trying to be kind? “Oh, God - you are. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“What do you want from me?” He barks, suddenly rattled, “I am trying here. I am trying to be understanding and regain some semblance of control - if you feel that I am doing that wrong, do tell me how.”

“You can’t just mess with me! You can’t just…”

“What?”

She stares at him in silence. She knows what she wants to say - but she doesn’t possess the capacity. She wants to tell him that he can’t just waltz into her life - this big, surly, ridiculously attractive soldier - and look at her with those stormy blue eyes, wrap her up in the hurricane of his life and spit her back out like she was nothing but collateral damage. He can’t just hold her, laugh with her, dance with her… He can’t just kiss her and then disappear behind some sick illusion of authority. Not when they started out the way that they did.

“You’re hurting me, idiot. I get that we can’t be like we were, but does it really have to be like this?”

She hates the burn in her eyes. She closes them, inhaling shakily as she drops her face into her palm. For the first time in his life, Arthur is at a loss for words. He cannot remember a time where someone has made such an admission. It dampens his panicked need for distance.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I never… That’s not what I wanted. I want to help you. I do. I want to help you find Shaun, I want to destroy the Institute. Those are my goals… But this - it can’t happen. I thought I had made that clear, but I clearly misjudged my actions.”

The tears make her eyes darker - they stream down her cheeks, but she doesn’t sob. He’s trapped by her gaze. They are not sure how long they sit there but, eventually, she nods.

“I know… I just wish things were different. You were a different man, down there. I liked him.”

“I am still that man,” He assures her, his gaze softening, “but I didn’t have my responsibilities to worry about. If it’s any consolation - I enjoyed it. And I would give anything to be able to have that…”

Not a word of it’s a lie, but it’s difficult to say. He can’t vocalise anymore - though from the look she is giving him, he suspects he has said enough. Her eyes are clouded with a sympathetic kind of grief.

“You don’t need to say anymore,” she smiles; it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I get it.”

“Excellent,” He nods, feeling a little sheepish. Arthur clears his throat awkwardly, and cocks a brow as she raises her hand towards him.

“How about we start over?” She offers, “A clean slate? Not just scrapping everything that happened, but coming to a mutual understanding of where we’re at?”

“That sounds perfect,” He grins, taking her hand to shake. “Arthur Maxson, Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“Uri Sanchez,” She beams, “pleased to make your acquaintance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, guys. So glad to see people are enjoying my work as much as I enjoy writing it!


	4. Cleansing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too lazy to read through I'm sorry for any mistakes! 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left a comment/kudos/read this fic. I'm so happy people are enjoying it!

The Lancer-Captain is a very no nonsense sort of guy. It’s something that Knight Rhys has always admired about the man. So, considering that he was ordered to be at the helm by 12 noon, he was pleased for two reasons. One - he would be getting a lay in. Two - this meant his mission was going to be a good one.

Or so he had thought.

He double takes when he almost bumps into Uri. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected her to still be here - thinking she would have either died in battle or just up and left. But no. Rhys has never been so lucky. It is with the utmost frustration that he now stands beside her, awaiting orders from Kells. Orders for the both of them.

“Knights!” He calls. Rhys straightens his already rigid stance. “I have a pressing matter that needs immediate attention. I’ve received reports that supplies have been disappearing from our supply depot at the airport. I suspect that this may be an inside job."

“Inside job?” Uri’s brows raise in surprise, “do you have any suspects, sir?”

“This is treason we’re talking about,” the Lancer-Captain snaps, “In a case like this, you are either sure, or you are not. Until then, everyone is a suspect… I want you to take charge of the investigation, Sanchez. Rhys will be your backup. Report to Knight-Sergeant Gavil at the base. He commands our logistics division. He can familiarise you both with his division at the depot. Beyond that, you have leave to conduct your investigation as you see fit. Report your findings directly to me. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” she says. To an outsider like Kells, this seems as innocent and normal as any other subordinate taking orders… But Rhys knows her. He can see that gleam in her eyes and the smug smirk playing at her lips.

Goddamnit.

As soon as they are out the room, Uri reaches up to tousle his cropped hair - as though it will have any impact on the style.

“Missed you, pal!” She chirps, “Good to be back in friendly company.”

“God, how I _didn’t_ miss you,” he grumbles, “Grab what you need and meet me at the ‘port transit.”

“Hey - remember what our wonderful Lancer-Captain said. I’m in charge. Now, Knight Rhys: grab what you need and meet me at the ‘port transit.”

Rhys has to refrain from trying to put his fist through a wall as he collects his usual battle gear. To save a fusion core her forgoes the power armour - they shouldn’t need it, in theory.

When he reaches the docking bay, Uri is already there. She stands leaning against the iron barricade, flicking the ash of her cigarette off the side of the Prydwen. It would be a pretty normal sight, if not for the fact that she is wearing a garish blue-and-yellow vault suit as opposed to her uniform.

“Where’s your flight suit?” He snaps, capturing her attention.

“Hey to you too,” she mutters, “my flight suit is almost as far up your ass as your head, idiot. And I ain’t going up there to get it back. Come on - we have a job to do, you’ve held us up long enough.”

“Nice to see you’re still as crass as always. And by nice, I mean despicable.”

“Can’t all be as prissy as you, sweet pea.”

Anger thrums through him as they land on the ‘port’s helipad. He can’t believe he’s stuck with her again - and that she has actually been promoted this early on. Oh, if he didn’t have the respect for Arthur Maxson that he does, he would have a few choice words about it…

It only gets worse.

“Alright, dearest mistress - where might we find this ‘Knight-Sergeant Gavil?”

She speaks in a deep, throaty tone that sounds absolutely ridiculous - even without the stupid choice of language.

“What did you just call me?”

“My Mistress of Mystery, of course. And I - I am the Silver Shroud!”

“Fuck no,” he objects. Naturally, she ignores him completely.

“Word has it that evil lurks within these halls. It is our duty to relinquish these poor souls from such harm. Rations are a key element of survival, in this strange wasteland. Now, I ask again - where will Gavil be stationed?”

Rhys refuses to grace her with a response, but paces onwards anyway. She follows him brusquely, admiring what has become of the remaining, inner section of the airport as they pass through. The lighting is entirely makeshift - haphazard wires hang from handmade conduits that run throughout the building, clinging to the thankfully-too-high ceilings. Wherever they do crawl down the concrete walls, they are attached to a range of construction lights. Further along the corridor inhabited by nothing more than wooden crates and two vending machines is an incredibly pissed off looking soldier. He is stood leaning against the barricade leading into what has become the centre of the Logistics division’s work space.

“Knight-Sergeant, Sir,” Rhys mutters pointedly, bringing his fist up in a salute. Uri does the same, surprisingly. She even bows her head in a sign of respect.

“Let me guess,” Gavil sighs, “Captain Kells sent you?”

“That’s right,” Uri butts in, defiant at his tone, “You’re in charge here?”

“I am - and you’re here about the missing supplies. Let's take this somewhere more private… Follow me.”

The Knight-Sergeant leads them deeper into the airport’s remnants, explaining what they’ve done as they pass. The part Uri assumed to be their main work space is actually referred to as their primary supply depot; everything that the brotherhood needs has to pass through, from supplies for the Prydwen to salvage from the fields - which explains why Ingram was so keen to get her power armoured feet on the ground. Because of its importance, access is strictly limited - which explains why they sent her with Knight Rhys as opposed to Initiate Friar.

“We track every crate, every bullet, every bolt that comes through that door,” he explains, coming to a standstill in one of the darker corners of the area. His voice drops, becoming laced with a frustration he had hidden well up until this point.

“Which is why I don’t take kindly to these accusations. I know every soldier in this unit. The thought that anyone would question their loyalty makes me sick. So, if you’ve got questions - ask. Otherwise, stay out of our way.”

“Alrighty then,” Uri says, feeling awkward under his uncomfortable gaze. “Where should we start our investigation?”

“You shouldn’t,” the Knight-Sergeant scoffs, “this is a waste of everyone's time.”

“With all due respect, sir - the Lancer-Captain disagrees.”

Rhys hadn’t meant to say it. His stomach jumps uncomfortably as soon as the words leave his lips, but something in Gavil’s face changes. He almost looks… disgruntled.

“I’ve already spoken with my men,” He mutters, eyeing the ceiling, “they haven’t seen anything. Teagan’s scribes probably fouled up the books again.”

“I highly doubt that,” Uri scowls.

One thing the Knights have in common is the way their anger flares, at this. Their minds instantly switch to Haylen - one of the most kind-hearted, dedicated and hardworking scribes in the Brotherhood. Gavil seems to notice the shift in both of their demeanours, for he is hasty to continue.

“If you insist on questioning someone, go bother Lucia or Clarke. I can spare them.”

“Lucia and Clark?”

“Knight Lucia and Initiate Clark. They were just posted to this detail a few weeks ago. They’re still learning their way around, but I’ll have them in shape soon enough. If you have to badger someone with unnecessary questions, it might as well be them.”

“Alright,” Uri nods, “and what can you tell us of the missing supplies?”

“We’re down over twenty crates, if you believe the scribes. All food. Dried meat, InstaMash, Mac and Cheese... “ He sighs impatiently, “It doesn’t make sense. I could see someone stealing weapons, or tech. But our ‘thief’ goes to all this trouble for a lifetime supply of Cram? It doesn’t add up.”

They thank him for his time and move on, heading out to find Knight Lucia first. As soon as they are out of earshot, Uri turns to Rhys.

“What do you know about this division?”

“I know Gavil has been in charge for about ten years. They’re a small group. Like to keep to themselves. It’s probably why he’s got such a stick up his ass about being questioned. They like to think they’re the beating heart of the entire organisation - morons.”

“Hey - watch it, Mr. Prefect. You’ll lose your badge with that smack-talk.”

Rhys has no idea what a prefect could be, but he knows enough about her tone of voice to get that she is mocking him. He rolls his eyes, feeling an odd sort of appreciation for her after her defence of the scribes. Maybe she’s not as disrespectful as he first thought.

“Ok,” Uri rubs her hands together, “You question Lucia, I’ll question Clarke. Let's meet back here when we’re done.”

As soon as she enters the next room, she knows who Clarke is. He is sat off to the side, almost hidden behind a large stack of crates. When he notices her heading his way, his expression becomes impatient.

“You’re here about the thefts, right?” He grumbles, and Uri nods. “Well, I’m sorry - but I’ve already told Gavil everything I know.”

“You already spoke with Gavil, then?”

“He questioned the entire unit - and no one saw anything...” The Initiate pauses for a moment to recollect himself. When he opens his eyes, his expression is a little softer. “Sorry. It’s just... I want to get to the bottom of this as much as anyone. What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about the security situation here.”

“Really? We’re in the middle of a hardened military base under constant guard. Nothing’s getting in or out of here without us knowing about it.”

The only useful information she can draw from the guy is that there’s ten guards and they all report to Proctor Teagan, whilst Gavil is in charge of day-to-day operations. But even Teagan knows as little as the rest of them… Or so they say.

Rhys turns up to the meeting point shortly after she does. He skulks over; expression sour as he stops close enough to keep the conversation quiet.

“They’re pretty guarded about this, but I suspect Lucia knows more than what she’ll let on… Damnit,” he runs a hand over his buzzcut, “what about you?”

“Nada,” She sighs, “Clarke was pretty hostile, which made me suspicious… But they’re tough nuts to crack. We’re working on the Captain’s orders, though. Surely there’s somewhere else we can start digging?”

“Well, everyone’s got their own footlockers on the Prydwen. I say we keep digging until seventeen-hundred, see what we can scoop up. We can question each guard separately and fill out a report when we get back. I’m pretty sure Haylen will let us use her terminal. As a last resort - we root through their stuff.”

“Deal,” She nods, hoping that it doesn’t come to that. Privacy is hard to come by in the Commonwealth - she’d hate to intrude on whatever amount anyone here has managed to build for themselves.

Sadly, nothing comes of their search - each guard seems to be more hostile than the last. By 17:00 hours, Uri is starting to worry that he’s actually going to dislocate his jaw with how hard he is grinding his teeth, so she steers them back to the shuttle.

Uri’s mood goes from bad to worse. She just wants to exasperate Danse for a while, but he’s been sent on a mission with a new squad. Then she remembers they have the report to write. Because she strolls in late, Rhys is too pissy for her to spend too much time around - and her own mood is distracting her too much to be able to type up much. Eventually, he shoos her off to do it himself.

Eventually, her bored stroll leads her to the mess hall - and she’s surprised by what she sees. The dinner tables have been shifted into rows, all facing the head of the crowd in a layout kin to a classroom. Sat at the tables are young squires, rapturously watching Elder Maxson as he shares some of his earlier battles with them.

“When I was twelve years old, I took down two raiders who were threatening my squad. We were on nothing more than a training patrol - and it was they who were escorting me. They often told me that this was down to the fact that I, as a Maxson, was ‘forged from eternal steel…’ I want to let you in on a little secret, young ones,” he leans forward, eyes gleaming as they shift in their seats and bite their lips in anticipation. “I never believed them. But, after all I have seen - and all I have done - I understand what they had meant by it. Only, I disagree that it is only I that was forged from such steel. I believe that you, my young brothers and sisters, were forged from it too.”

The squires begin hissing excitedly, whispering animatedly amongst themselves as Arthur pauses to let them do so. His smiles are infrequent aboard the Prydwen, but he smiles now.

“I do not say this to worry you. Being a Brotherhood member is fraught with challenge, and you are expected to grow to become great soldiers, intelligent strategists and quick thinkers. But you must also bear in mind the importance of being kind to yourselves. So know this, squires: sometimes, things will go awry. Sometimes the fight will be tough - but, if you stand together, then you are capable of anything.”

The excitable chatter starts up again, and his smile widens. That’s when his eyes fall to her - for the first time, she notices that they’re not grey. They’re blue.

“Alright, alright,” He claps, regaining their attention, “that’s all for today. Dismissed.”

Uri stands aside to let the youngsters pass by, finding it hard not to smile as she listens in to their quick-paced, awestruck conversations. She waves the last one off and then turns to him. She can’t wipe the pleased smile from her face.

“That has to be the sweetest thing I’ve seen in the Commonwealth yet,” She cooes, holding her hands to her heart in an overexaggerated swoon. Arthur rolls his eyes, though a slight flush creeps over his cheeks.

“I was the only child, at the Citadel. When I became Elder I swore I wouldn’t put any squire through what I had to endure. So we have a handful, and I like to ensure that morale remains high.”

“It’s sweet,” She beams, plucking up a left-behind purified water, “It’s also the first time I’ve seen you as Arthur since getting on this ship.”

“Like I said - I’m still here. Just hidden behind layers of responsibilities.”

“Yeah. Well, I think you put yourself under too much pressure, Maxy boy. Everyone on this ship idolises you. I bet they’d be tossing themselves on the ground to stop you stepping in an irradiated puddle if you asked… Are you sure you need to carry the weight of everything on your own?”

“Not everything,” He says, stopping in front of her. His voice drops in volume as scribes begin filtering in to re-set the mess hall to its original layout. “I have a friend, now.”

“Took you long enough to accept that,” She scoffs, glancing around at the others. When a severe-looking woman throws a curious look their way she straightens her stance. “In any case - I would like to thank you, Elder. I appreciate you taking the time to talk with the division’s squires.”

“The pleasure is mine, Knight. Now come - I want to discuss the matter with Kells.”

They weave their way through the Prydwen until they’re on the observation deck. The guard greets them as they approach, and Uri offers her a quick salute before heading over to sit precariously on the protective barricades by the great windows.

“Knight,” He sighs, shaking his head in despair as she beams back at him.

“Apologies, Elder. I have been ordered to improve my agility. I felt this was a fitting way to do so.”

“Very well,” He mutters, resting his hands on the bars beside her, gazing out at the Commonwealth below. Uri begins swinging her legs as she thinks back to her day - and feels a little guilty for leaving Rhys to type the report up on his own. Then again, he had kicked her out, and she would much rather be sat here with Arthur than sat down there watching him sulk.

“So, the Lancer-Captain has concerns about missing rations. How did your detective work go?”

“The Shroud is disappointed with her work,” She says, jutting out her lower lip in a pout. He rolls his eyes - again - and fights the smirk playing at his lips.

“And why is that?”

“Well, we didn’t complete the mission, of course! Though I have to say - the Mistress of Mystery has been most helpful. They are typing up the full report as we speak. But the Shroud does not have time for such matters - for I had to find the Paladin… But he is not here.”

“I sent Paladin Danse to help train a new squad. Paladin Sweck was only promoted days ago - I felt it prudent that she learns from the best.”

“The Shroud can accept this,” Uri nods, turning her head to look out at the sun set. Arthur does the same, leaning against his elbows as he relaxes into his stance.

“I care about them you know… The people of the Commonwealth. The people under my command. I think that is the worst part of the role,” He hangs his head, feeling vulnerable to his admission, “I am a fantastic strategist, but no mind is perfect. I lose soldiers on a near daily basis… They risk their lives for the greater good. I have to believe that it is worth something.”

Uri clenches her jaw as a spark of annoyance twists her stomach. She is quick to regain composure - luckily, he is too engrossed in himself to look up, just yet. She nudges at his shoulder gently, throwing a false smirk his way.

“The Shroud is the superhero here, Elder Maxson. I beg you not to steal my thunder with such admissions.”

“Never,” He laughs, though the humour doesn’t entirely reach his eyes.

“You wanted debriefing,” She adds. “We asked around, but they’re a tight-knit bunch. Rhys decided it’d be best to try grouping whatever we got together in a report to see where we can go from there. I’m going to go check on him later.”

“What did you manage to find?”

“We found that they’re a private bunch - play their cards close to their chest. But, from the looks of things, Initiate Clarke and Knight Lucia know more than they’re letting on. We agreed that - if all else failed - we’d start checking their lockers for more information.”

“Yes,” he nods, “If that’s what it takes. I’m certain I don’t need to remind you how sacred food supplies are, at present.”

“You kidding?” She snorts, “It’s no different to before, to be honest. I got into my first fist fight over resources.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” He chortles. The sadness in his eyes has dulled into fondness. With that, she stands.

“Well, Elder. I’m going to get a bite to eat and return to my duties. Have a good evening.”

“You too, Knight. Dismissed.”

-

After confronting Lucia, Uri and Rhys agreed to shadow Initiate Clarke to find out just what has been happening to the disappearing supplies. They hadn’t exactly talked about why someone would want to steal rations. Food is hard to come by in the Commonwealth - it had just been assumed that it was for selfish greed. But now, staring down at the ghouls eating their food… Clarke tossing it down to them… She shakes her head, feeling her stomach churn at his impending punishment.

Surely, there’s no sin greater than this. Not in the Brotherhood’s eyes.

She has never seen Rhys so angry, and never seen an Initiate so frightened. He looks like he wants to toss him down to the ghouls. He tells him he wants to. Rhys goes into gruesome detail about how he’d like to watch the filth feast on his entrails, and Clarke sobs about how he had a ghoul friend once - and how they were just as human as the rest of the Brotherhood. Uri wants to share her condolences with him. He doesn’t seem to understand that ghouls and ferals are different in many ways. It must be difficult to come to terms with, and Uri doesn’t truly understand why he should be treated like brahmin shit for it. But she says nothing - and continues to say nothing as they put the ferals down, planting bullet after bullet into each of their waxen heads. Her stomach churns again at the sight of the Glowing One running towards them - she keeps as much a distance as possible as Rhys buries a combat knife into its softened skull.

It’s early evening, but Uri feels as tired as ever. They take Clarke to be placed in confinement, and Uri feels suffocated by the beliefs encompassing the faction she has agreed to become a part of. She has to find Shaun… Otherwise, she would already be hightailing it back to Diamond City.

She can’t wait anymore.

“I can prep your power armour, as long as you leave it here. Yes, that is a dig at you, Paladin.”

Ingram quips a brow at a rather displeased Danse, and Uri smirks. He clambers out his armour and pulls on a bomber jacket - he looks out of place when blending in. Maybe it’s why he never gets out the damn thing.

Quinlan has given Maxson all the intel in his possession, and that is what he’s exhaustedly pouring over when they reach his quarters. They sit themselves down at the table, and he pushes a map-turned-drawing board over to them.

“I’ve outlined the best possible route for you to follow. I can spare a vertibird to take you here - it’s a crater in which one of those fanatical ‘Children of Atom’ groups dwell. I assume you have no set co-ordinates on where this Virgil may be, so strategically - this is the best place to start. They may know something.”

“I’m guessing we can’t keep the vertibird for the whole journey?”

“No. I do not trust the longevity of vertibirds in such irradiated areas. Once you have been set down, the pilot will return to the nearest outpost. Then, when you need it, you must make your way to this checkpoint - it’s the closest they’ll see the vertibird grenades. Once they hone in on that, you’ll be carried out and brought straight to the Prydwen for medicals.”

“Noted, sir,” Danse nods.

“Thank you, Elder,” Uri says, eyes shining with gratitude, “I couldn’t do this without you.”

It takes a good three weeks before everything is in place. Uri spends most of her time training with Danse or practicing unarmed combat with Alice. Arthur spends most of his time grilling everyone involved to ensure that everything goes as planned. He would give anything to be going with her, but he knows Kells would inform the Council. He may have been handed the spot as Elder on a silver platter, but not every member had the faith of his subordinates.

It’s not until the night before their departure that Uri sees Arthur again. Uri has just finished up her last session with Alice, who has since been granted the rank of Knight, when a squire runs up to them - breathless and beaming. He confirms her suspicions when he salutes her specifically.

“Knight Sanchez. Excuse me, but the Elder has asked that you meet him at his quarters at nineteen-hundred hours.”

“I’ll be there,” Uri says, holding back her laughter in fear of patronising the youngster. It seems that the squires have been treated to another storytime from their Elder.

Uri showers and changes, then makes a quick stop at the power armour station to check on Ingram. The Proctor scolds her the second she notices her presence… Ok, so maybe Uri has been hanging around the grease pit more and more as the weeks progressed. A mixture of the Knight’s pressure and paranoia has ground down her patience, so she orders the nearest Initiate to escort her out. Sick with nerves, Uri makes her way to Maxson’s quarters.

“Ah, Knight,” Arthur greets her, as stoic as ever. His eyes flicker to the guard, and Uri catches on - he wants to keep up the act despite agreeing to be friends, which she can understand.

“Good evening, Elder. I was informed that you wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Please, come in.”

Uri’s eyes widen at the layout before her… She had expected some sort of lengthy lecture on staying safe, or maybe he’d just decided to lock her in his personal bathroom so she couldn’t go. So, she is rather surprised to see that he has laid out an array of treats - from snack cakes to nuka cola.

“Arthur!” She cooes, “Is this for me?”

“Well, it’s certainly not for Paladin Danse,” He grumbles, glancing away in embarrassment. He regains his composure relatively quickly - it’s not until she has sat down that he speaks again. “Tomorrow, you are going into one of the most dangerous places in the remnants of this world… I’d hate to send you in there thinking that, well… That I don’t care.”

“Careful there,” she quips a brow whilst popping open a bottle of cola, “I might start getting ideas.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and sits beside her, tossing his battle coat onto his cot and popping one of the stale-yet-delicious snack cakes into his mouth. He can see she is nervous, so he steers the conversation away from her mission. He asks about her experiences before the war - what was school like? What were fresh snack cakes like? Had she ever been to Nuka World? Has she been to countries across the globe? He becomes enthralled by her tales - specifically her knowledge on a place called Europe. He is about to ask her to tell him the entire history of the place, but she holds up a hand and grins.

“C’mon, Arthur. I’m losing my voice, here. Why don’t you tell me a story, instead.”

“Alright,” He chuckles, “About what?”

“Hmm…” She ponders the thought whilst chewing a sweetroll, “How about the day you became Elder?”

He swallows his half of the roll far too quickly, which sends him into a rather embarrassing coughing fit - which is not at all helped by Uri’s heavy laughter. Eventually she pushes her cola his way, and he manages to regain control of his airways.

“Jeez, you don’t need to drop dead to say no. I can take a little rejection.”

“I just - it’s not something I’ve ever talked about. I was expecting you to ask about the behemoth, or the deathclaw.”

“Nah. Save that for the squires. I wanna know about your big promotion.”

“Well, it was common knowledge that I would be Elder, someday. I am the last of the Maxson line. It means a lot to many people…” He grimaces, “the Western Chapter of the Brotherhood have pockets of soldiers who favour me as a God. Our order is quasi-religious, but it’s a bit much.”

“Don’t worry, Sir. If we bump into anyone like that and it gets to your head, I’ll always be here to knock you down a peg or two.”

“Very funny,” He rolls his eyes, “Anyway, I won’t go through all the details - because you need to read the codex for yourself, Knight. But the Brotherhood was set up by my ancestor in the West - there’s still factions dotted around, but they had a run-in with a political faction called the New California Republic.”

“Real creative name they’ve got, there,” She scoffs.

“Yes, well - they managed to ‘knock the council down a few pegs,’ so to speak. But not before they could successfully send troops out into the East. This group successfully set up in the Citadel, and I was sent to stay with them to avoid the potentially lethal conflicts back home.”

“You mentioned DC,” she nods, “So - you’re from Cali, but you grew up in the Pentagon-turned-Citadel… And just became Elder because of some great, great granddaddy?”

“Not quite,” he rolls his eyes again, “So, when the Brotherhood was established, it was designed to find and preserve pre-war technology. In the West, that was the very main goal of our brothers. However, contact became few and far between - and with the war raging with the NCR, we had to adapt. Elder Lyons was a man of kindness - he decided it would be best for the Brotherhood to protect civilians from the dangers of the wasteland… It sounds lovely, in theory, but we lost men and women to what some saw as petty quests - and, eventually, some of the Eastern group were angry enough to leave. They wanted to return to the roots of preserving technology and nothing more - they called themselves the Brotherhood Outcasts, disowning our Elder in disgrace.”

“Sounds… Political,” she grimaces, “Was never one for that stuff.”

“I suppose it was. But that’s not all,” he sighs, “Another group - known as the Enclave - raged war against our faction. Whilst I was no more than a child, the Brotherhood fought the Enclave to protect a scientific project - Project Purity. We succeeded, though it was not until I was able to negotiate an agreement to re-join the Brotherhood with the Outcasts that we were able to hunt down the rest of them,” Arthur smiles, “It’s what got us the vertibirds - and the right intel and schematics to build the Prydwen.”

“Show off,” She teases, “So, you wiped them out to steal their shit?”

“We wiped them out because they were a threat. Much like the Institute - the Enclave coveted technology to push it to its limits… We cannot let another holocaust plague whatever’s left of our world, Uri. The Brotherhood has tasked itself with doing what it must to preserve technology in the safest way possible.”

“Hmm,” she quips a brow, “You sound like an Atom Preacher. Only less weird, and with more metal-than-geiger clicks.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The playful smile falls from her lips as he glowers at her, annoyance paving the way for anger. She takes a lengthy sip of her cola before settling the empty bottle down; Uri fixes him with a pointed look.

“Okay, so - I get what you’re saying, Arthur. You have fought to protect people. It sounds like you did just that with this Project Purity thing… But I think you’re letting your loyalty to the Brotherhood cloud your judgement, which can be pretty sound if you excuse the superiority and hatred for any otherness that you harbour. It’s an insult to all those people down there to say you’ve dedicated yourselves to preserving technology safely.”

“Please,” He seethes. He can feel his face flushing irritably, but his curiosity gets the best of him. “Tell me how.”

“Okay. For example, this whole idea of cleansing the Commonwealth. We barely know a thing about this Institute, but you’ve tarnished these synths with the same brush as atomic annihilation - all because you don’t understand the technology that they’re using. It’s a nice idea - preserving technology. But being scared and jealous of others having access to something better than what the Brotherhood has isn’t safe. You brought the Prydwen here to start a war. War is not safe,” her voice begins to wobble as she adds, “trust me. I know that better than anyone on board this ship of yours.”

He can feel his temper rising exponentially, so he takes a moment to regain his composure. Damnit, if anyone else was saying this to him - they’d have already been exiled. He tries to justify it by reminding himself that they need her determination… But it’s a lie that he cannot force himself to believe for a second. He takes a deep breath and, when he opens his eyes again, he places a hand on hers.

“Maybe we should change the subject,” He murmurs. She still has her eyes closed - her teeth are worrying her lower lip, and when she looks at him again tears shine in her eyes. Uri offers him a sheepish look and a half-smile.

“Yeah, probably for the best.”

“Anyway - that’s my story. After defeating Shepherd and reuniting the Brotherhood with the Outcasts, the Western Chapter appointed me as Elder. We were able to take out the Enclave and… Well, the rest is history. Quinlan is in the process of documenting it all for the books.”

“God,” she laughs - though the sound is somewhat sad, “Comic books, I hope. Your life is drama after drama. Are you ever just gonna… Chill?”

“Chill?” he raises a brow in disbelief, “Uri, I’m in charge of an entire Brotherhood Chapter. I am the last remaining descendant of Roger Maxson, the very founder of our cause. Do _you_ think I’ll ever get to ‘chill?’”

“You don’t have to chase all the bad guys yourself. Get your minions to do it. Send out squads in vertibirds and kick it in your fancy blimp,” she’s laughing for real, now, “lap up luxury. Forget pre-war tech. Fix up a hot tub. It’d look great in the place you’ve got that rickety old terminal.”

“I have no idea what a hot tub is, but I’m going to assume that it would be extremely inappropriate for me to replace my terminal with one.”

“Oh, God!” She gasps, looking utterly appalled, “hot tubs are like… They’re like baths, but the water’s kept clean by chemicals. It’s heated, and you can sit in it. They make bubbles - really relaxing. One of my gals’ parents’ had one. They’d always be going out of town for wild weekends in Vegas, so we’d throw pool parties,” she smirks devilishly, “Oh, the amount of men I wooed in that tub. Those were the days...”

“I understood approximately thirty percent of that monologue,” he chuckles, “But they sound wonderful. For you, anyway.”

“I think you’d appreciate a tub. Hey, when’s your birthday? I’ll see if I can get a vertibird down to the ruins of Ash’s house. Maybe it survived? I mean, I doubt it - but you can’t get by in this world without a little faith.”

He laughs - really laughs - and Uri feels the remnants of her anger dissipate. She hadn’t realised moments like this were something she should cling to, whilst they travelled the wasteland. But now - up here, where he’s carrying an unimaginable burden on his shoulders - she understands that moments of laughter and relaxation are a commodity, for him. She finds her cheeks warming as she realises - she likes being one of the people that can make him laugh.

“Anyway, I should really get some rest.” The sun had set hours ago - and she becomes acutely aware of the hours ticking by. Her Pip-boy reads 22:03.

“Very true,” he nods, humour falling from his gaze as they stand. She’s suddenly nervous… Though it’s not because of her potential pending doom. It’s then that she realises - this is the first, true date she has ever had. Whether Arthur intended it to be perceived as that, she doesn’t know. But butterflies flutter through her stomach as she watches him open the door for her.

“Goodnight, Elder… Thank you.”

“Best of luck, Knight,” he says, saluting her. Their eyes remain locked for a moment, until Uri steps over the threshold. She ignores the knowing look the guard flashes her way as she heads back to her bunk.


	5. Irradiated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M 22! It was my birthday yesterday, but I've still got another chapter for you all!
> 
> Also again, I haven't proofread. I'm lazy. I apologise for being the person that I am.
> 
> Thanks again for reading. Enjoy!

Uri’s brain feels like it has been stuffed with cotton wool. She can faintly hear something beeping and, surprisingly, it is this that irritates her into wakefulness… despite the heavy ringing that clouds her ears. 

She’s not sure how long it is before she can stand the light enough to open her eyes, but the sights she is met with jolts her into wakefulness. She has tubes stuck to every inch of her, it seems - she chokes against the one down her throat, and instinctively goes to pull it out. Someone realises, because her hands are quickly swatted away.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cade scolds, “I’ll remove it. You’ll just cause more damage.”

Her airways feel scratchy, but having the damn thing out of her throat makes her feel a little better… Well, in terms of breathing. Every other inch of her feels like it’s been bolted to the bed. As though knowing what she needs, Cade quickly returns with some water. 

“Just sip. You’re going to feel thirsty, but if you down the thing you’re going to start vomiting again.”

“Again?” she croaks, then does as he instructs.

“Do you remember anything?”

“Mm… I was… I was in the Glowing Sea, right?” He nods, “Right. And we… God, we must have been out there days… All I can remember is being on course for the checkpoint Arthur pointed out, and then…” Uri releases a rasping, frustrated sigh, “Nada.”

“Uri… You were attacked by radscorpions,” Cade explains, “Paladin Danse is fine, before you ask. You were the one who took the brunt of it.”

“So… How long have I been out?”

“Two weeks.”

Cade is watching her as though she is a time bomb. Whatever he expected from her in response - it certainly wasn’t the wheezing laughter that soon becomes a coughing fit. The medic rolls his eyes and brings the water back over to her - she sips it gratefully.

“Ah, I wish I could let you in on the joke. Alright - two weeks… What else happened? I’m guessing a heavy case of radiation sickness?”

“Your helmet was disengaged in the fight. You suffered from radiation poisoning as a result… But also a rather horrible gash to the face.”

“Ah.”

“If it was not for the Paladin, you would have been lost out there. He ensured that the vertibird’s search party found you both safely. He even removed his own helmet to put on you - if he hadn’t, I imagine that you would have succumbed to the radiation before I could flush your system.”

“Thanks, Doc… I’ll thank Danse later, if he’s around.”

“Yes…” Cade trails off as he begins flicking through some sort of list. He does that for a few minutes. When he is done, the Medic flashes her a knowing look, “Elder Maxson was particularly unimpressed with your injuries.”

“Yeah?” she chuckles, “Tell him to come in here, then. I’ll show him how much more unimpressed I am.”

But it’s not Arthur who visits her first. Alice is a ball of nervous energy as she bounds into the bay, carrying a wilted set of purple, mutated flowers. 

“How are you?” She asks, setting the flowers in a chipped vase by her bed. Uri puts on a brave face to curb the youngster’s concern.

“Never better. I bet I have superpowers, now. Maybe I can spurt an extra arm at will - or another head!”

“Don’t be telling the Proctors that,” Alice giggles, “They have enough trouble with one of you.”

“If you’re saying Quinlan didn’t shed a tear to think I was dead - you’re lying to yourself.”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “Tears of joy.”

“Touché,” Uri smirks.

Haylen is the next to visit. She sneaks Uri a box of Fancy Lads snack cakes, and explains that Danse is down at the airport - but he’ll be up to see her as soon as he finishes his training exercise. Then, she succumbs to sleep once more. It’s not until sunset that she awakens to Danse sitting at her bedside.

“Hey, Cap,” She yawns, “Looking good for a guy who took off their helmet in the Glowing Sea. Then again, you’d probably make a hot ghoul.”

“Disgusting,” Danse grimaces, but his eyes dance with humour. He places a hand on hers. “I’m glad you’re recovering, soldier.”

“Thank you,” Uri murmurs, turning serious. “You saved my life, Paladin. I owe you one.”

“You owe me nothing. I am your sponsor - it’s what I’m here for.”

“Look under my bed.”

The Paladin does as she tells him to, and when he pops back up he has the box of snack cakes in his hand. 

“You’re supposed to be on a liquid diet, Knight.”

“Hey - Haylen snuck them in, but I feel like shit. Consider them a thank you gift, from your’s truly.”

Cade comes over once more - he changes her IV and checks her stats. She grumbles about how her Pip-Boy could do that for him, if he’d let her wear it again. It’s sat on her nightstand - but illness has her glued to her bed. Apparently, he needs access to both arms to help her get better. Uri thinks he’s lying, but she is not in much of a state to argue.

“So…” Danse sighs, “Do you remember what happened before all of this? In the cave?”

“You mean Virgil?” He nods, a scowl twisting his features. “Yeah, I remember. The Institute use teleportation, and he gave us the how-to…” Uri’s eyes widen in panic, “Oh, God. We did manage to keep that, didn’t we?”

“Don’t worry - I gave the documents to the Elder as soon as I knew you were safe. Ingram has been trying to decode them ever since… Turns out the writing of abominations can be hard to decipher.”

“Hey - he’s the only shot we had at getting in there.”

“And you said you’d help it,” Danse narrows his eyes, “Did you mean that?”

“What’s the issue? The serum can turn him human, again. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Does he deserve that? After everything he has done… All the people he’s killed?”

“Danse, he left because he regretted it. People deserve second chances, sometimes. He gave us the specs for this teleporter-thing. It’s the least I can do!”

The Paladin stands, ignoring the way Cade is looking at them as he does.

“Get better, Knight. I’ll speak with you another time.”

When he’s gone, Uri sighs heavily. She automatically raises a hand to run through her hair - as she tends to when she is frustrated - but she is met with skin.

Her eyes widen.

“Cade - where the fuck is my hair?”

“You contracted heavy radiation poisoning,” He snaps, “Where do you think?”

“FUCK!” She growls, dropping her hands to her sides in a huff. Great. Just great. First Danse getting pissy, and now she’s bald, scarred and still feels sick as hell. 

That’s when Maxson walks in.

“Greetings, Knight-Captain,” He says, his voice calm as he watches Cade salute him. “May I have a moment alone with the patient?”

“Of course, Elder. I will be outside.”

Arthur closes the door behind him, and Uri wants to crawl under her bed and refuse to ever come out. She tries to pull the bed sheet over her head, but she’s got too many wires stuck in her arms to be successful. She can hear his boots thud against the floor as he walks over to her bedside.

“What are you doing?” He asks, prying the blanket from her hands. She folds her arms across her chest and turns away, hating how vulnerable she feels.

“Go away,” she croaks, “I look terrible.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Uri,” He sighs, “You almost died - and that’s what you care about?”

“I’m in shock. Leave me alone.”

Weirdly enough, he chuckles and pulls the seat Danse vacated closer to her bedside. When he’s comfortable, he reaches out a hand to her and watches her pointedly. Eventually, she unfolds her arms and places her hand in his - watching with mild curiosity as he cups it in both of his own.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like a radscorpion tried to make me his lunch,” She grumbles, “and succeeded.”

“Well, he didn’t - luckily.”

“I wish he did.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, nothing is worth dying for.”

“Yeah? You best be wrong, Elder. When I next look in the mirror, if I’m not still the hottest person in the Commonwealth, I’m suing you for lying.”

“Uri, the cut doesn’t look bad. I’ll get you a mirror, if you’d like?”

She doesn’t respond, and so he begins rooting through Cade’s stash of supplies - and eventually finds what he is looking for. Uri takes it from him with thanks, not caring for the chips or grime covering it as she stares back at her reflection.

It isn’t as bad as she had pictured. The scar runs in a diagonal down from her nose to her jawline, held together by stitching similar to that in Arthur’s cheek. Her face is gaunt from weeks of a liquid-based diet, but there’s a flush of colour to her cheeks that she suspects has everything to do with him being here. Her head is completely bald, and both her eyebrows and eyelashes have fallen out. She pouts at herself.

“I want my hair back,” she mumbles, pushing the mirror into his hands.

“Uri, if it is any consolation, you look good bald.”

“Shut up, you’re a terrible liar.”

He gives up on comforting her, finding her arguments over something so small more than a little frustrating. Arthur decides to change the subject, because he will be damned if he is leaving just because she can’t handle her own hair loss.

“So, you managed to find this Brian Virgil,” He states, “and now, we have what we need to build the Molecular Relay… All we need is a synth component.”

“I’d been told to find a Courser before,” Uri murmurs, “Amari, back in Goodneighbour, said it would probably be the best way to get in - but they’re not exactly the kinda guys you just bump into on the street. Virgil said we’ll need one of their components specifically to activate the relay. Apparently, their most popular spawn point is at the old CIT ruins. There’s a frequency on the Classical Radio station that I should be able to follow--”

“No,” He shakes his head, “You are not going anywhere. I’m sending someone else.”

“No you’re not,” Uri snaps, yanking her hand away. When he meets her eyes, they are full of fury, “This is my fight - nobody elses. I’m not having someone else do my dirty work.”

“You need to rest. This benefits all of us - whilst you recover, we can build the relay.”

“You’ll be sending them to their deaths! You know no one will actually want to do this.”

Arthur’s calm expression falters into an expression she’s never seen him wear before - it’s a mix between fury and concern.

“You almost died once - I’m not letting that happen again!”

“I think I should be able to decide for myself whether or not I want to risk my life - and I do,” She snaps, “I chose to go into the Glowing Sea. I knew the risks, for God’s sake. I am willing to do it all over again if it means getting Shaun back. I am going to find the Courser, no one else - and there’s nothing you can say or do to stop me.”

“I could confiscate your Pip-Boy.”

“Do that, and I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”

She’s surprised he’s not barking orders at her. Maybe he really did take the whole friendship thing on board. Then again, ‘friends’ have never gone to the lengths he is to ensure that she stays safe. He is risking his image for this. Cade has his suspicions, the Knights guarding his quarters too… 

“You need to stop, Arthur,” She murmurs, squeezing his hand. He meets her eyes again - they are still brimming with something she now recognises to be fear. He shakes his head, nostrils flaring as he glares at her.

“You’ll stay here. That’s an order, Knight. If you dare step foot off this ship, I’ll have you expelled immediately.”

“Fucking do it!” She growls, slamming her fist on the bed, “Go on - kick me out. I’ll find another way in. I’ll do whatever I need to do to get Shaun. I did not sign up to be part of your stupid club so that I could be locked up here whilst you get other people to do my dirty work, you fucking idiot.”

He tears his hand away and begins pacing the end of her bed. Uri grinds her teeth and goes to fold her arms, but the wires get in her way again. She’s sick of them, so she begins pulling them out of her arms. This gets his attention.

“Are you mad?” He growls as he tries to stop her.

“Get off me!” She snaps back, pulling away from him. He fails to stop her - she’s got the wires out and is pushing herself to her feet… But she has not stood for weeks. It’s not as simple as just getting up again. As soon as her legs take her weight, her knees buckle and head swims. Arthur tries to help her back onto the bed, but she won’t have it.

“No,” She wails, “No, just… let me sit. I want to sit.”

So he does. He kneels with her, making sure she doesn’t fall to the ground as he helps her into a sitting position. Exhausted from the brief-but-intense moment of battling for her independence, Uri allows herself the luxury of leaning into his touch. He lets her, shifting them so he can lean back against the side of her rusted hospital bed. He sits cross-legged, and pulls her onto his lap. She finally loses it - the shock of everything catches up with her. There, with his arms wrapped around her, she begins to ugly-cry into the fur of his battle coat. 

“Shh,” he soothes, rubbing gentle circles against her back, “It’s alright. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay, I promise. I promise, we’ll get Shaun back. I just don’t want to watch you kill yourself before you get the chance. I want to help you, Uri. Let me help you - please. You do not have to fight this battle alone.”

It’s a while before she stops crying, and even longer until she finally draws away from him. When she does, she looks up at him with a sniff. Her eyes are red and swollen, and she’s worrying her lower lip with her teeth. She sighs.

“I appreciate what you’re doing, Arthur. I get you want me to stay safe - but people are starting to get suspicious. You’re treating me differently than you do the others. You know how I feel… what I want… but I also know what you said. You’ve got to let me do this. Not just for me, but for your rep. Keeping me off missions will only fuel their gossip.”

He looks disgruntled, but she can see it - he knows that she’s right. Uri offers him a sad, tired smile and reaches for her bedside to support herself. She goes to stand, and he does too - guiding her back so she can perch on the side of her mattress. 

“Fine,” He says, finally breaking out of his thoughts. She feels her happiness spike at her victory. “But I’m going with you.”

“What?” She scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t just leave. What will Kells say? What will they do? They just got you back!”

“Uri, you’re forgetting the battles I became Elder for. I will make my case to the Lancer-Captain and the Proctors - I’m confident they will agree that it is the best course of action.”

“Idiot,” She mutters, though her voice is laced with amusement rather than annoyance. He flashes her a winning grin and straightens out his coat.

“Cade is going to have a fit when he sees what you’ve done. And I’m going to get the blame.”

“Fuck Cade,” Uri grumbles. She remembers the water he’d been letting her sip at earlier - then quickly reaches for it, downing the whole thing in glee. When she slams the empty mug down on the side, Arthur hands her a bucket.

“A gift for your impending sickness,” He rolls his eyes, “You’ll regret not listening to him soon enough. I have work to do, but I’ll be back tomorrow. I don’t want to hear about you fighting Cade’s treatment, otherwise I promise you I will find a way to keep you from the synth-hunt.”

“Promise you won’t lay a pretty little finger on my Pip-Boy, and I’ll be good as gold.”

“Deal,” he backs up towards the door, “Goodnight, Uri.”

Cade is furious when he sees the Radaway that is meant to be going into her arm forming a puddle on the floor. He scolds her for her wastefulness and outright stupidity, and Uri takes it all in silence. Frustratingly enough - Arthur is right. Three hours later, she is throwing her guts up… There is a small victory in it, however. Cade is happy to report that this is the first time she hasn’t thrown up blood since her trip to the Glowing Sea. 

Another week passes before Uri can stop with the Radaway IVs - much to her relief. Weaning herself off of her liquid diet will take a little longer, so she is told she can return to her bunk so long as she goes back to Cade five times a day so he can help her get used to solid food again. She accepts the offer - and spends the majority of her time hiding in Danse’s private quarters, much to his annoyance.

“Why don’t you just drag your mattress up here?” He grumbles one day, entering to see her sprawled across his bed with her nose buried in his copy of the Codex. 

“Aw, Cap. You always did have the best ideas.”

“Yeah? I’ll remember you said that, sarcastic-or-not… Now get out of here, I have paperwork to do, and I don’t need you serving as a distraction.”

She leaves, huffing as Danse locks the door behind her. The Knights guarding the area are so used to her now - the one currently on duty just laughs.

“The Elder has just finished up a meeting with Kells, if you want to hop from one room to another…”

“I hate the bunks,” She whispers, as though she’s sharing some sort of hidden secret. Arthur calls to enter, upon hearing her knock - when she does, he’s just finished downing a good portion of scotch straight from the bottle. His eyes are red - as though he’s been crying. 

“Hey,” she cooes, all her usual cockiness melting from her stance. He’s sat at the head of his table, so she takes a seat at his right side and moves the bottle out of his reach. “Arthur - what’s wrong?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

Uri scowls at him, thinking back to her time in the medbay. It’s his persistence there that has her deciding that she isn’t going to let him shrug this off.

“You know, actually talking about things can help.”

“You can’t help,” Arthur slurs, “She’s dead.”

“Who’s dead?”

“Sarah,” he growls, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh, Sarah,” She claps her hands together and nods enthusiastically, “Sarah. I remember her so fondly… So…” She trails off at the murderous glare he is giving her, “Okay, this is the part where you tell me who she was.”

“Sarah was the daughter of Elder Lyons. For a time, she was Elder too. After her father died… But she was killed in combat soon after. Sarah was… The closest I’ve ever been to a person. As you may have noticed, I have never had friends. But she was close.”

“I’m sorry,” Uri says sombrely, then slides the bottle back within reaching distance. Arthur shakes his head.

“No, no. I don’t… I don’t want to keep drinking.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs before taking a healthy swig of her own.

“It’s the anniversary. I didn’t realise until Teagan mentioned the date… So wrapped up in my duties.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad. If she was Elder, she’d definitely get it - besides, you’ve got a lot on your plate. Between trying to get the relay set up and making sure I don’t get myself killed. A little forgetfulness can be forgiven, Arthur. A little sadness, too.”

He takes a deep, shaking breath and nods. 

“You’re right.”

“I know,” she jokes, patting him on the hand. “Can I borrow your Codex?”

“My… Codex?” He is so thrown by the question, it takes him a minute to contemplate what she’s actually asking of him. Uri rolls her eyes at the baffled look he’s giving her.

“Yeah, y’know - that set of principles the very foundations of your damn army is build upon?”

“I know - I mean, why do you want my copy?”

“Danse kicked me out of his room, I didn’t think he’d appreciate me taking his with me.”

“I… think I have one.”

As he begins searching his drawers, Uri raises a surprised brow.

“What? Elder Maxson doesn’t sleep with the Codex under his pillow?”

“Oh, please - I have been able to quote any and all parts of the Codex since I was ten years old.”

“Nerd,” she snorts, finding this not at all surprising in the slightest. 

Whilst Uri settles on his bed with his battered Codex copy, Arthur excuses himself. A stimpack and a shower soon sober him up - when he rejoins her, he’s dressed in slacks and weary-eyed. She pats the spot beside her, so he sits.

“Why were you in Danse’s room?” he asks.

“Hmm…?” She takes a minute to process his words, seemingly lost in the paragraph she’s reading. After a few seconds, she looks up. “Oh - I’m there a lot, at the minute. I’ve been reading his Codex.”

“Oh. Well, good.”

A moment of silence. Then:

“Is that what people call it, further East?”

“Wait - what?”

Uri turns to Arthur with the most incredulous look she can muster, and he feels his face flush at her amusement. 

“It just - well, surprised me, is all. I didn’t expect the Paladin to… Well…”

“Arthur Maxson, please tell me that you do not think I am fucking Paladin Danse.”

“Uri!” he scolds, grinding his teeth in embarrassment at the situation and her language, “I - well, you… You enjoy those activities. I didn’t know for sure--”

“Jesus Christ, keep your shirt on. Danse wouldn’t know flirting if it kicked him where it hurts,” she rolls her eyes, then buries her nose in the book once more. He is silent for a while, as he attempts to regain some sort of dignity. Then he realises she never said she wouldn’t go there… And something about that makes him uncomfortable.

“So, if he wasn’t so oblivious…”

“Arthur,” she growls, slamming the book down so fast it startles him. “No offence, but it’s really not your business nor in your interest to be jealous. Stop asking these questions, I’m not answering them - and if you keep asking, I’ll knock you round the head with your own Codex so hard you’ll be in the medbay.”

“Alright, alright - I apologise,” he murmurs. “Can I at least play Red Menace on your Pip-Boy, seeing as you’re reading my Codex?”

“Play it on your terminal,” she huffs.

“I can’t. I’m getting it replaced, you see. I took some friendly advice - it’ll soon be a hot tub.”

That gets rid of the frown lines from her forehead. With an amused roll of her eyes, Uri unfastens her Pip-Boy and hands it to him. She’s not sure how or when Arthur got so comfortable around her, but she’s pleased he has - whether he intended to or not.


	6. Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I took so long. I have had this chapter written for ages, but I started doubting what I've wrote - so I held off posting it until I knew I was heading in the right direction. 
> 
> By now you know I'm the sort of trash who doesn't properly proofread. Sorry in advance.

During finals, Uri had started suffering from anxiety attacks. The pressure was on, and she cared - because she knew her parents would have, too. The voices stealing her breath sounded just like them, but they were disappointed. If she failed, she knew it’s all she’d think about. She had considered taking mentats, but even that wouldn’t work. What would her father think about her cheating? She had to do it on her own. 

As Uri leads Arthur and Danse up the road, away from Concord, she’s reminded of those anxiety attacks. She is trying her best to hide the way her lungs feel like they are closing in. The school counsellor told her all about mindfulness, so instead of fighting the way her body strains, she focuses her attention on the gravel crunching beneath her feet. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is beating down on them, and she finds herself wishing for her vault suit… well, Vault-tec got one thing right. Somehow, they managed to design the most sustainable, comfortable suits imaginable. She finds she has never been neither too hot nor cold, when wearing it. The problem lies in its harsh, eye-catching colours. Terrible for stealth, she had elected to leave it in the care of those remaining in Sanctuary. 

They are almost there, now. She stumbles over an old mole rat hole, and a flash of a memory hits her - the way her hands shook as she fired wildly at the creatures, Dogmeat tackling one after another like a pro whilst she was left fighting. She’s come a long way since then… But being back here isn’t helpful. She wants to protect Sanctuary, but she doesn’t want to be here. Sadly, she doesn’t have the luxury of choice.

Once Uri became stable enough to no longer need Cade’s care on standby, Arthur had called for a meeting with Kells and the Proctors. There, Danse and Uri had to present their findings to the main figureheads of their chapter. Everyone was thrilled that they finally knew how to get into the Institute, but there was still the matter of finding the Courser…

Arthur finally proposed that he should lead the team to do this. Kells was immediately against the idea - as had been expected - but the Elder put up a good fight. Despite being a good twenty years younger than the Lancer-Captain, Arthur has been involved in the heaviest of battles out of the pair of them. He reminded him and the others of his battle with Shepherd, the fight with the Deathclaw and how he lead the negotiations to return the Outcasts to their ranks. Despite her sarcastic responses in the past, Uri finds herself feeling proud of his achievements. It seems she is not the only one - for Kells begrudgingly responded by saying that it would be a matter to discuss further with the council before they could make a decision.

In line with this proposition, Arthur lifted the ban on all key staff having to stay aboard the Prydwen. Uri barely saw Ingram, after that - it seems she is not the only one who prefers the ground to the skies. After much debate, the council finally agreed to the idea. It seems, despite their need to protect the last Maxson descendant, they know that he is more capable than anyone else in the area… potentially more so than anyone else in the entirety of the Brotherhood, too. Though Uri would sooner die than boost his ego by admitting that. 

The condition to this allowance was simple - they want the Brotherhood to gain a better understanding of the Minutemen, considering that Uri is their General. She tried to explain to Kells that it’s more a facade than anything else - because Preston does most of the work - but it didn’t make a difference to the Lancer-Captain. If anything, it just roused suspicion. Trusting Arthur’s judgement, the Lancer-Captain did not fight the Elder when he said he would go and meet Preston with Uri and Danse.

“Everything alright, Knight?” Danse murmurs, causing Uri to jump. She hadn’t realised they had got so close. Before, they were trailing behind her, guns at-the-ready as they scoped the area for hostiles. She just nods and pretends to be focusing her attention on stepping over a slab of overturned tarmac that was once part of the road. 

Finally, they reach the top of the road. There, she is met with the first improvement since she was last here. The Minutemen have about fixed the battered bridge, and where there were once a row of houses is now completely void of structure… But there is a huge, fortified wall a way up the path. 

“There it is,” Uri says, pointing to the structure ahead. They cross the bridge carefully, but it doesn’t give to their weight. As they pass where her house once stood, she thinks of her uncle. He wasn’t the best man, but he didn’t deserve this. She hopes that, if there’s a God, he let him head on upstairs. 

“Stop right there!”

It’s Preston, stood at a security post overlooking the main entrance - which is a shoddy gate made out of scrap from the old houses they had torn down. His expression is hard, but as soon as he meets Uri’s eyes he lowers his laser musket. 

“General? Is that you?”

“Yes, yes,” She rolls her eyes, “A little radiation gave me a haircut. But it’s me.”

He orders someone below to open the gate, and a moment later the makeshift doors swing open to reveal the rest of her old estate… and just how much it has changed. 

When Uri had left, the Minutemen refugees were using Rosa’s old home as their base. From the look of things, it’s still the centre-point of the settlement. Any houses ahead of Nate and Nora’s have been knocked down to use for scrap… Including her own, which she tries not to get too het up about. Overall, there are four old-world houses still standing - Rosa’s, the house behind hers facing the old tree, Nate and Nora’s and the one to the right of theirs. The scrapped parts have been used to fix these up as much as possible, whereas the empty spaces included in Sanctuary’s new walls have been fixed up with makeshift huts - some are houses, others are used for storage and trading posts. Despite her anxiety, Uri is in awe - and Preston can’t stop smiling. 

“We’ve rebuilt a lot. There’s also a farming area starting from behind the main house to where the old playground used to be. Marcy and Jun have been left in charge of that… The settlement beacon has attracted a handful of folk, though we’re still hoping for more. Carla has been spreading word whilst trading, and Travis has mentioned us on Diamond City Radio a handful of times, now. The supply routes to Tenpines, Abernathy and Starlight Drive-in are going strong - and we’ve got men working on clearing the ghouls from Sunshine Tidings. It has heaps of farming space. Once we have that… I think we’re getting to a point where we may be able to take the Castle back.”

For a moment, Uri remains silent. She looks around at the rickety huts and revamped houses, moulded together as though someone has tried to reimagine the American dream - like nailing down jello. But, oddly enough, she likes it. As much as her heart is aching, being back home, she offers Preston a sad-but-genuine smile.

“It’s amazing, Preston. All of it. You’ve all pulled together to make something incredible of this place… Hate to say it, but maybe Mama Murphy was right.”

“The sight has kept us alive enough times for me to be sure of that,” He chuckles, but his eyes are full of sympathy. Arthur and Danse have remained silent for the majority of their tour - only speaking whilst Uri introduced them. Arthur goes to add to Uri’s appraisal, but Preston beats him to it.

“We, uh, know how much that house across the street meant… Codsworth told us. We’ve kept everyone out as much as we could, and fixed it up so it’s habitable. Sturges got the electricity working, too. Anyway, If you want it, it’s yours.”

They come to a stop outside the house in question. The one Uri had avoided looking at the second they stepped foot inside Sanctuary’s walls. Now, she takes it in. The old shrubs have been taken out, holes patched up… The most put-together house out of all of them, and it had to be theirs. Teary-eyed, Uri turns to Preston and pulls him into a hug.

“Thank you,” she says, voice thick with pain, “Thank you for everything.”

“It’s the least we could do,” He murmurs, hugging her back. Danse is as confused as always, but Arthur has clocked on. This is where Uri lived before the war… and this must have been the home of Shaun. 

Entering the old house feels like a punch to the gut. The air is sucked out of her as she takes it all in… Arthur turns on the lights, and a couple of grubby, bare bulbs flicker to life from overhead. The kitchen is still standing, though the pre-war oven has been ripped out and replaced with a camping stove. Used plates and chipped mugs litter the countertop - some settlers have clearly been using the kitchen to feed themselves, despite Preston’s best efforts to keep it off-limits. The original kitchen table stands in its usual spot in the corner; dotted around it are dining chairs in various stages of decay. 

Then there’s the living area. The rug has practically dissolved into one with the floorboards, and the old sofa looks just as worse for wear. Nate’s armchair looks the most intact, though even this is stained with mold and torn from years of hardship. The television’s off light flashes red - underneath, an old holo-player sits with various tapes surrounding it. If she was anywhere else, seeing that movies survived armageddon would have her jumping for joy. 

“Are the bedrooms this way?” Danse asks, pointing to the hallway to their left. Uri just nods, and the Paladin leads the way. He’s about to slide open the door into Shaun’s room when she jumps.

“Wait - no! Not in there. The room across from it.”

He gives her an odd look, but does as she asks. He must be satisfied with whatever’s inside, because he enters. A moment later, she hears what must be a locker opening. That’s when she notices Arthur watching her, eyes unreadable as he takes in her reactions to their surroundings.

“This was their home, wasn’t it?” He murmurs, low enough that Danse doesn’t hear. Uri nods, grinding her teeth to fight back her sobs as she wipes the buildup of tears from her eyes.

“I’m fine,” she lies, letting out a shaky laugh, “it’s okay. I’ll be okay. I’ll take Shaun’s room, you and Danse can have theirs.”

Arthur looks torn between comforting her and leaving her to it. She turns away, deciding for him. She doesn’t turn back until she’s listened to him join Danse - then she heads to Shaun’s room. 

Two beds have been pushed into one, in this room, and an old set of drawers stand beside it. Shaun’s old crib lies against the back wall, filled with whatever mementos were left throughout the house. A S.P.E.C.I.A.L kids book, a teddy bear, an old alphabet block… Nates fatigues, Nora’s diploma… and Uri’s old locket.

She’s incapable of fighting her sobs, now. She had lost this in their house way before the war… how was it nuclear fallout that managed to dredge it up again? The gold is stained from years of neglect, but she would recognise it anywhere. The ugly, oval locket encrusted with a small, single emerald. It was her mother's - passed down through generations, given to Uri after her death. She wore it everyday until - one day - she lost it whilst babysitting Shaun. With shaking hands she lifts it from the crib and unfastens the latch. The pictures inside have been well protected. On one side, there’s her father - pictured proudly in his army fatigues. On the other, her mother - fawning over a bundle in her arms. Uri, as a baby. 

Uri knows they are here for a reason. She is supposed to form ties between the Brotherhood and Minutemen, but her grief is overwhelming. When the sobbing comes to a stop, tears continue to stream down her cheeks. It’s as though the ghost of each and every neighbour is taunting her. Rosa and that brat son of hers, Mr and Mrs Able, the Sumners… and Nate and Nora. Shaun’s empty crib feels like an accusation, and she doesn’t know how to bottle it all up any longer. Uri curls up in a ball, ignoring Danse and Arthur whenever they knock at her door, unable to fight the tsunami of fear that she had been holding off since the reporter announced that nuclear detonations had taken place in New York and Pennsylvania at 9:42am, Saturday 23rd October, 2077.

-

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but Uri’s Pip-Boy reads 10:24am when she finally moves to check the time. She feels just as exhausted as she had the night before, but she’s already going to suffer through enough questions as it is. With a sigh, she pulls herself out of her bed and hunts for her vault suit. She finds it in her nightstand, and makes a mental note to thank Mama Murphy later.

The homes are still without running water, but when she heads into the bathroom she finds a sink full of it. Beside it sits a towel and bar of soap. She knows Arthur has left it out for her, but the flutter in her stomach just adds to her sense of nausea. Once she’s clean and slipped into her suit, Uri holsters Buster and heads out to find her Brotherhood comrades.

The late morning weather is just as good as it had been the day before, and the settlers are all busy at work. Some call out for customers, others farm the land - singing along to the radio as they go about their business. Despite her inner turmoil, Uri can appreciate the sense of community that these people have built. She spots Danse first. He is stood talking to Sturges - instructing him, it seems, as he works on the old T-45 power armour they had found in Concord. Then she notices Arthur. He’s stood with Preston, hands clasped firmly behind his back as they exchange words. Worrying that things could turn ugly, she heads on over.

“Morning!” She calls, flashing them a smile as they turn to her. 

“You’re alive,” Preston jokes. Arthur’s expression doesn’t change - but his eyes linger on her vault suit. 

“Impossibly so,” She winks. “Honestly, though. Someone should have woke me up.”

“You needed the rest, Knight,” Arthur says, finally taking in the bags under her eyes. “Everything alright?”

“Peachy,” She nods, “Just wanted to make sure you two are getting on okay.”

“Damn, General - we’re all grown-ups, here,” Preston chortles, “I’ve just filled the Elder in on the history of the Minutemen.”

“An interesting history it is. Slightly idealistic, for my taste. But evidently, it’s working out for you now.”

“Yeah,” Preston nods, “Let's hope it stays that way.”

“Hey,” Uri fakes offense, “with me as General, absolutely nothing could go wrong.”

“Uh-huh,” Arthur fights a smile, “remember those words, Colonel. I could picture those being her very last.”

“With all due respect, Elder - shut up.”

He chuckles, now, and Uri throws him a pleased smirk. A settler chooses this moment to announce that she has made mirelurk stew, and the thought of eating anything soon has her stomach churning. Preston leaves the turrets to stand guard as he goes to grab a serving - Uri takes Arthur’s wrist before he can join him.

“There’s something I want to show you,” She murmurs, “If you want to tag along?”

Arthur glances back at the settlers, and notices Danse helping himself. The Paladin is talking animatedly with the group’s handyman, and he can’t think of a time he saw Danse so at ease. He turns back to Uri and nods, “of course - lead the way.”

Uri takes them up that familiar path, fighting off her dreaded flashbacks. She can almost feel the air thickening with Arthur’s confused curiosity, but he remains silent. They pass over the bridge and up until they are through the rusted, wired fence. Skeletons litter the ground, some still dressed in decayed clothing - some missing legs, arms, heads… Uri faces ahead, resolute. Arthur cannot tear his eyes away.

This fenced-off place is immediately recognisable to Arthur, but he doesn’t say anything. Uri clambers up the ramp to what has to be a control panel. There, in the ground before them, stands a cog-shaped mechanism that he assumes is an elevator. She throws him a sad smile.

“Stand in the centre,” She orders. He does as she asks, staring suspiciously at the floor beneath his feet. Whatever she does in there sets off a series of obnoxiously loud sirens. Arthur flinches from the sound, hand twitching towards his weapon as his eyes fly to the woodland beside them. Before he can tell if hostiles have been drawn into their position, the elevator groans to life - and Uri’s beside him, hugging herself as the floor gives way - slowly dragging itself down, down, down… The sound of metal scraping against metal will haunt him long after. By the time they reach the bottom, he’s grinding his teeth so hard that his jaw is left aching. 

He has always hated vaults. The experiments carried out by Vault-tec have always been abhorrent, to him. Hell, disgust regarding experiments involving the Forced Evolutionary Virus is exactly what the Brotherhood is founded upon. If anyone hates how far pre-war scientists were willing to go, it’s the Brotherhood of Steel. 

The place is eerily quiet, give-or-take the occasional sound of dripping water or the buzz of broken reactors. Despite the latter, Uri’s geiger counter remains silent, so he follows her off the elevator and up a set of stairs. There stands a bridge leading through the entrance of the vault. ‘Welcome to Vault 111’ is plastered across the wall overhead. He turns away from the propaganda in disgust, and that’s when he notices the skeleton of a scientist by the control panel.

“I got my Pip-Boy from him,” Uri says, her voice shaking. “The remains of his arm fell right out of it. It’s been so long, there wasn’t even any flesh left for it to cling to.”

He feels sick. He wants to tell her he’s sorry, but the words sound lame enough in his head - they would only be worse spoken aloud. Instead he follows on, throat constricting as he takes in the struggle clearly faced by whoever lived here. That’s not the only skeleton they come across - Uri opens a door and continues ahead, leading Arthur further into the vault’s depths. 

“We were brought through here, when the bombs fell. My uncle… Well, you know. He didn’t make it. But Nate and Nora were here, and Shaun. Everyone was so scared, so confused. They told us to follow the doctor through here - through this doorway up ahead.”

She opens the door, and Arthur swallows. There, inside, are a numerous amount of pods, aligned in two separate rows. He doesn’t need to ask - he knows what they were for, what they did… Uri heads down the stairs, and comes to a standstill when she reaches the pod labelled C1.

“This is where my p-pod was,” She stammers, lifting an affectionate hand to press against the window. “When I got out, I was in C-seven. I checked the terminal. Apparently they had to carry out maintenance, and they swapped my pod with Nora’s by accident.”

She walks ahead, hands trembling as she points at C7. The only pod that’s open… the only pod that is empty. Arthur realises as he steps further into the room. Each pod has an inhabitant. All of them are covered with sheets of ice, completely unmoving. Their skin is drained of all colour. Void of life.

“And here,” She chokes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stands on her tip-toes to peer inside the window of C6. “Here’s Nate… Yep, the bullet’s definitely still in his brain. You can see the blood that managed to get out before they put him on ice, again. I watched it happen,” She is sobbing, now. “W-watched as they put a b-bullet through his h-head, whilst they t-took Shaun.”

The pain in her voice is insurmountable. It’s as though he’s reliving her memories - experiencing them for himself. Maybe it’s because they’re trapped alone, or maybe it’s because he truly cares about her. But he has never been able to empathise with anyone like this, and not knowing what to say is clawing at his insides. 

“You called them my people,” She sobs, finally looking at him. “The settlers. Up there. But that’s not true. They’re not my people. My people are here, killed by asphyxiation. The Institute turned off their life support, and then only reason I’m here is because of one little mistake.”

She begins pacing, tears and mucus mixing together as she cries, and cries, and cries. Her voice goes hoarse from sobbing, but Arthur makes no move to speak. He is trapped into silence by his inadequacy. His inability to relate on any capacity.

“Y-You are not my people,” she continues, shaking her head wildly, “I need you to see - to know. You’re not. I care about you. I want good things for you. I’m glad I could help the Minutemen. But they are not my people, either. My people? My people! They are the ones you all carelessly leave scattered across the floor of this nation. They are all part of the furniture, to you! Left to sit and decompose for so long that they may as well be halloween decorations. They are skeletons, now. My people - everyone I knew, everyone I laughed with and loved and hated and fought with and experienced life with… They’re all dead. The closest thing I have, Arthur, to my people - they have been mutated, they’re doomed to become feral. They’re hated by you. But they don’t believe I’m like them. They had to get here the long-way round. They’re jealous that I kept my skin, my humanity… I can’t win. I can’t. I’ve got ghouls turning me away, and humans pretending I’m one of them. And I had to say all of this to someone, because it was fucking killing me.”

“Uri,” he chokes. She cuts him off by shaking her head. Her next words tumble from her lips quickly, desperately.

“I wish they hadn’t mixed us up, Arthur. I wish Nora was the one who lived. I wish I was the one in that stupid pod. I didn’t want this. I never wanted this. They told us they were decontamination pods. They - they lied to us, and I’m so alone.”

As she falls to sit on the cold, dust-coated ground of the vault, Arthur feels his chest tighten. He wants to do something, dammit. He goes to close the distance between them, but she recoils.

“No!” She snaps, “No, no, no. No. Don’t. Don’t touch me… You, you don’t get it. You can’t. I don’t want this. I don’t want it.”

“Uri, please. Let me help you. I want to help you.”

“No, you help me by staying away. I can’t. You said you didn’t want this. You said it.”

“Then why did you bring me here?” He asks, feeling his frustration turn as she crumbles in on herself. “If you didn’t want my help, what did you want?”

“I don’t know,” She wails, “For someone to see? For someone to get it? Just for someone to know, and you’re the only person I want to know.”

Arthur watches her hang her head in her hands, feeling useless. The illogical part of him wants nothing more than to pull her into his arms, right now. But she’s right - he is the one who put up the boundaries, it would be unfair to push them now. Especially when she is so vulnerable… He cannot begin to understand what the wasteland has been like, for Uri. But if he can relate to anything at all, it’s her loneliness. He knows it well. It’s a constant ache. Something that has only felt a sense of relief from when he’s been with her. And hearing her say she wanted to be in Nora’s place... He lets out a shaky sigh. His breath forms clouds in the cold air of the cryo chamber.

Uri shifts her position so that she can wrap her arms around herself. She is trembling, though Arthur is not sure if that is because of the icy temperature or her emotional state. He had seen an old towel on an abandoned maintenance cart, however, so he retrieves it and tosses it over to her. It doesn’t surprise him when she makes no move to pick it up, so he allows her a moment of childishness - choosing to login to the lone terminal in the room to give her some semblance of privacy.

As she feels her energy levels deplete, Uri wonders if her emotional outburst could rival the fatigue of her Glowing Sea fiasco. At least she had some sort of hope, after that. They found the information they had needed for so long, and she was in the hands of someone capable of patching her up again… This is different. She knows as well as the next person that there is nothing that is capable of healing this. She feels pathetic, yet she also knows that she needed this moment - just a brief few minutes to rage and cry, to vocalise how lost she constantly feels. 

She feels as though she could head back to bed, but after spending the night hidden away she knows that’s not an option. As much as she is here on Brotherhood business, she still needs to check in with Preston privately. She cleans herself off.

“Okay,” she sighs, tossing her towel aside, “Ready to go?”

“Definitely,” he nods, looking paler after reading some of the entries made by the maintenance crew. Uri hauls herself to her feet, wincing at the numbness in the lower half of her body. She didn’t register just how cold the ground really was.

“Remind me to keep my butt out of human-sized refrigerators,” She mutters, trying to rub heat back into her legs. “Even vault suits don’t keep out that level of cold.”

Arthur doesn’t respond to her jibe, but she thinks nothing of it. Truth be told, she doesn’t have the capacity to make sure that he is feeling okay. She is barely keeping it together enough as it is. She had held herself together for so long - Uri thought releasing some of her grief would help, but twisting the lid to relieve some pressure just shattered the entire facade. She feels about as stable as a duct-taped Nuka Cola bottle. Stray emotions seep from the cracks in her demeanour - she may as well wear her heart on her sleeve, but she is far too stubborn to admit defeat. She has a little boy to find.

The air is muggy above ground, and thunder can be heard rumbling in the distance. They clamber down the dry hillside with relative speed, not wanting to be caught out in the impending storm. The settlers are getting ready for it, upon their return - tugging damp belongings from clotheslines and bolting makeshift window shutters. It would be a miracle if it didn’t turn out to be radioactive - Uri hopes that she can find an IV for her radaway, and soon. They duck into the main house on Sanctuary’s strip, where they had noticed a number of folk gathered.

“Right on time,” a settler chuckles. He tips his hat in greeting, eyeing Uri and Arthur with interest. 

“Elder,” Danse looks relieved, “with all due respect, Sir, I was beginning to grow concerned.”

“Apologies, Paladin. The Knight had private matters to discuss.”

“Yeah,” Marcy snorts, “Private’s a word for it.”

Uri huffs bitterly and heads to the window, not wanting to be part of any conversations right now. A couple of the other settlers start sniggering amongst themselves - Preston has to remind them to act their age, and Arthur is pleased to see that the joke has gone over Danse’s head. Ah, the unwavering faith the Paladin has in their values…

The attention moves away from the new arrivals, after that. Arthur, Danse and Sturges begin talking about the T-45 armour, some of the settlers take it in turns to play checkers and a handful of others begin preparations for dinner. Uri flicks on her Pip-Boy’s radio, willing the music to get rid of the innate chatter surrounding her.

That’s when she notices two of the quieter settlers. They don’t see Uri - they are too busy eyeing each other. The girls must be around fifteen, and Uri is sure she has seen them tending to the brahmin on a couple of occasions. The rain is pouring down, by now, but neither of them care. They are too far away for Uri to hear what they’re saying, but the first says something to the second - and the second laughs. Then she pulls her girlfriend into an embrace, and begins swaying her into a dance through the rain. Her mood is positively sour, but Uri smiles sombrely at the sight playing out before her. It makes her think of the time Arthur had danced her around the Cabot house kitchen, and her heart sinks.

She is not foolish enough to think that a relationship would fix her. No, some scars run far too deep to heal, and the Wasteland isn’t the most ideal climate for battling poor mental health. But watching the lovers twirl one another around, skipping and laughing in the rain... The world is dead and cruel, now. Yet these two girls - they have found happiness within one another. Uri wants that, too. She just wants to be happy. To be wanted. She doesn’t want Arthur holding her when he pities her. She’s tired of him only showing any sort of emotional investment when he thinks she’s going to die, or when her grief may eat her alive.

Uri thinks that may be why she took him down to the vault. Truth be told, she’s not entirely sure why she felt the need to do so. It was certainly therapeutic - going back. But her grief has turned to anger, and it’s directed entirely at the Brotherhood Elder. It’s a childish sort of anger. One that makes her want to throw a fit; smash things and scream at him about how unfair it is. She just wants him, she wants him to want her, and she wants to be able to be with him. She doesn’t want friendship, and she certainly doesn’t want to be under his command. She wants to be his equal. His partner. His confidant. Provide a shoulder to lean on, and have him do the same in return. 

Is it really too much to ask?

Arthur is becoming increasingly distracted, and has to apologise to Danse on numerous occasions for losing himself to his thoughts. His eyes keep drawing themselves to where Uri is stood, leaning against the hole where a window once sat, gazing out at the rain. He’s upset her, though he’s not sure what it was that did it. He wanted to help her, and she turned him away. What was he supposed to do? Leave the room? Pretend he didn’t care? The Elder chews at the inside of his cheek, weighing up his options, replaying it in his mind. 

“... model is obviously old, so you’re going to want to chip off the rust. I’m certain there will be more scattered through the Commonwealth. Once this one has been restored, you may be able to find others.”

“Not likely,” Preston scoffs, “that’s the first set I’ve found that wasn’t being worn by a raider - or one of your lot.”

He tries to engage. Really, he does. But he sees Uri move from the corner of his eye. She’s walking out into the rain. But why?

“Excuse me,” Arthur murmurs, most likely cutting Danse off from what he was about to say. He can feel the Paladin’s eyes following him as he stalks out of the house. The rain is finer than it had been, but it soaks him just as fast. He watches her pace further up the road, seemingly fixed on the settlement’s single tree.

“Uri,” He says, voice carrying through the silence with ease. “You’re going to give yourself radiation sickness, out here!” She freezes for a moment, and then turns on her heels. Her eyes are full of fire.

“Leave me alone.”

“What did I do wrong?” He huffs, ignoring her request - moving closer. “You were upset. I wanted to help, and you said no. I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to fight,” She spits, “I don’t have the energy.”

“I’m not looking to fight. I asked you a question.”

“Persistent fuck,” She mutters, voice quieter. He’s stood in front of her now, arms clasped behind his back as he watches her expectantly. A picture of calmness. Togetherness. It makes her sick. “God, are you always so in control? You’ve had a stick up your ass ever since we got back to the Brotherhood.”

“We discussed this,” He sighs, “I have duties, and I am--”

“Expected to act a certain way as Elder. Blah, blah, blah. Lecture after lecture. Spare me the bullshit, I’m not in the mood.”

“What’s gotten into you?” He snaps, now. Eyes clouding with annoyance, as stormy as the darkened sky.

“You!” She explodes, “You’ve gotten into me! You, with your stupid good looks and your stupid charm. The way you sang those stupid songs, the way you laughed with me, the way you relax whenever we’re alone. Can’t you see? Don’t you get it? I can’t be your friend, Arthur. I can’t. Because you’re you - and, God, do you drive me crazy, sometimes. But when you’re not being this - this asshole, you’re a great guy. Too great. If you’d been all Elder-like from the start, maybe things would've been different. But I know you. I can’t forget you…” She shakes her head, her voice quiet “I don’t want to.”

Then she steps closer, and he inhales sharply. Her hand comes to his coat, and she begins searching the inside pockets. She finally finds what she’s looking for - when she draws back, she’s holding a folded piece of paper.

The poem.

“Maybe I’m not as alone in that as I thought,” she breathes, eyes glittering as she goes to unfold it. He reaches up before she can, holding her hand in his.

“You’re being foolish if you think this is because I do not feel the same way, Uri. I thought I had made that clear from the start.”

“Either one of us could die at any given minute, and you’re stood there telling me you don’t want to be with me because of some lousy self-imposed rules?” She laughs bitterly, “Look around you, Elder. There’s no one left to regulate shit. Everything’s dead, and I’m tired of waiting. I know you feel the same way. And I know all that about you not being allowed to explore a relationship is bullshit. That’s the damn problem. You only show me you care when you think I’m in danger… But don’t you get it? We’re always in danger.”

“Uri,” He sighs tiredly, “You’re not being logical. This - it can’t happen.”

“But why?” She growls, “You’re always saying no, but never actually explaining what’s stopping you! I know you lied about the ‘not allowed’ shit, so don’t try that again. You have to go through it all, anyway. You’re the last Maxson. I’d be surprised if you weren’t encouraged to go with a Brotherhood member. So, spit it out. What’s so wrong with me that you just can’t do it?”

Arthur stares at her for a moment, dumbfounded by the question. When he answers, his voice is shaking.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” He spits. “Are you honestly standing there, demanding I tell you what is wrong with you? Nothing is wrong with you, dammit!” He pauses for a moment, pacing as he tries to find the words. “You - you’re the greatest threat of them all, to me. Because you’re a distraction. And that’s the oath. That’s part of being born a Maxson. You’re practically guaranteed leadership, but it comes at a price…” He stops pacing and meets her eyes. “We are not in the twenty first century anymore. Relationships - they don’t tend to happen the way you remember. I am expected to be focused on my work, and my work only. I cannot marry for the old world values of love and partnership, and so fraternising with anyone remotely distracting -- I can’t.”

“So… It’s because you’re afraid?”

Her gaze is so intense that he wants to turn away. It’s like staring directly into the sun. Too bright. Too knowing. He sighs. 

“What do you want from me? Why must you push and pry? Why can you not just… Just leave me be?”

His voice is thick with emotion as he meets her eyes. He looks tortured - at wits end. Like a radstag caught in the crossfire, wanting to be put out of its misery. But he once described her as a wildfire, so it should come as no surprise that she does not fall back out of pity. She reaches for him, clutching the fur of his coat so she can drag him down into a searing kiss. He freezes for a moment, but then he’s wrapping his arms around her waist. He pulls her up to his height with ease, and she cups his face in her hands. This is what she wants. She wants to forget about everything else - the Institute, the Brotherhood, the settlements that need her help, the past morphing into the nightmare of the present. He’s everywhere. His taste, his touch, his scent. She can feel his heartbeat under her hand; fluttering at the pulse of his neck. 

This is all she wants. Is it really too much to ask?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, folks. ;)


	7. We Should.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a giving mood. Have another.

It’s risky, doing this in the home they currently share with Danse. But his overwhelming sense of fear is easily dampened when she closes her bedroom door behind them. She has his eyes locked in a seductive gaze that sets his body on fire. 

“You can still back out, Elder. I’m not into force.”

Uri reaches up, toying with the zip on her vault suit. Arthur’s throat goes dry, eyes trapped on those lithe fingers. He chews on the inside of his cheek as she tugs it down. Lower, lower, till there’s nowhere left for it to go. Then, she peels her arms from the fabric’s hold - revealing dark, olive-toned skin that flashes orange under the light of the oil lamp on her bedside. She is still watching him as she shimmies the suit over her hips, then down over her legs. The boots slip off with ease; she kicks those, along with her suit, to the side. 

He has seen her like this before, of course. After the time they had to jump in the harbour to avoid those mutated hounds. But, for some reason, seeing her so bare after months of knowing her… Knowing she is doing this for him, rather than for self-preservation, has his emotions reeling. There’s a war plaguing his mind as he lets his gaze fall over her. Her skin, hairless from the Glowing Sea. Her eyes, dancing with mischief. The sight of her scalds his insides like the fire he had compared her to. So warm. So inviting. 

“We shouldn’t,” He manages to say. It sounds entirely unconvincing, even to his own ears. Uri closes the distance between them, forcing him to meet her eyes. She studies his expression, then nods.

“Yes, we should.”

She raises onto her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his lips. He draws back, slightly. Flinching as though her touch was a live wire. She hovers for another moment, and then closes the distance once more. But, instead of kissing him, she takes his lower lip between her teeth and tugs it teasingly. He chokes on a pleased sort of noise, and then he captures her waist with his hands - and he’s kissing her back, letting his hands roam her body as he draws her closer. When he breaks away, it’s to trail hungry kisses down her neck. She laughs breathlessly, reaching back to quickly unclasp her bra.

He immediately takes an already peaked nipple in his mouth, experimenting with what sensations seem to draw the sweetest sounds from her. Uri winds her hands into his hair, purring from the attention. He bites down a little too hard, causing her to gasp - he draws away, looking up at her with lidded eyes. His pupils have completely blown, and she swears to Atom above she could orgasm from the mere sight of the desire in his gaze.

“You’re wearing too much,” She whispers, then attacks his lips with hungry kisses. She pushes his coat off his shoulders, and It thuds to the ground. Uri’s not sure she has heard a more satisfying sound. His breath is falling out in shallow pants as he explores her skin. Cupping her breasts, drawing patterns on her waist, learning the exact shape of her spine. She has to pull back; catch his wrists in her grasp.

“Let me get you out that damn suit, Arthur. Then you can touch whatever you like.”

He nods and unzips his suit; lets her peel it away from him. The skin lying underneath is pale, and covered with reddish-pink marks from battles of the past. It tightens over the muscles of his abdomen at her touch. She finally rids him of the suit that may as well be an extra layer of skin; with how thin it is. How little it hides… She gives his chest a slight push, and he falls to sit on the end of her bed, feeling his face heat up as she removes his suit and underwear at the same time.

She eyes him carefully - the arched curve, the thick veins, the length, the girth. It’s exactly as she had expected it to be, and she’s delighted. She takes him in hand and he flinches, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. Fighting the carnal urge to just move. When he opens his eyes, they are glassy with need - and she’s smiling up at him, all softness and warmth. Offering reassurance.

Then she takes him in her mouth. 

Remaining quiet is one of the most gruelling battles he has ever faced. She looks incredible like this. Staring up at him through her thin lashes, eyes darkened with lust as her lips stretch around him. And, God, it feels good. Each stroke of her tongue has his stomach tightening. He knows, there and then, that there can’t possibly be a better feeling than her mouth on his cock. Her pace is slow, but he has to stop her - placing a hand on her shoulder to cut off her movements.

“If you carry that on… God, It’ll be over quick.”

She smirks at the compliment and pulls away, slowly standing between his legs. He allows his eyes to roam over her again, and a calloused hands falls to her inner thighs. She sighs shakily as he draws his dominant hand upwards, allowing it to rest on her dampened lips. Her hands grasp his shoulders, and when his thumb hits the small, swollen bead at the hood of her folds, her hips grind involuntarily. Hungry for more. 

“There’s time for that, later,” She says gruffly, and then she’s straddling him and kissing him with a desperation that he has never seen before. He inhales sharply as uncertainty hits him - but, he is no longer sure of what there is to be so afraid of. Her naked flesh against his is far too wonderful to complain about and, as he feels her line him up at her entrance, how tight, hot and wet she is… Animal instinct takes over, and he has to hold himself back from thrusting into her. Why did he refuse for so long? 

“Fuck,” She gasps, head rolling back on her shoulders as she slowly lowers herself onto him. The pleasure makes him want to hurt - to ground himself, not lose control too quickly. His hands pull her back to him, and he fastens his lips onto a particularly soft spot on her neck. She stifles a groan with one hand, whilst the other rests on his shoulder for support. The sounds fighting to claw out of her are a wonderful and welcome distraction, so he sucks harder - beginning a short cycle of suck, bite and sooth until she finally begins rocking her hips.

“Ohhhhh,” Arthur drawls, finally realising why Uri had wanted this from him for so long. She laughs in response, though the sound is merged with a series of pants and moans as she kisses him again. He lets his hands fall to her hips, helping guide her as she lets her fingernails bite into his shoulders. Her pace is slow, yet she’s engulfing him with each thrust. He feels impatient for more, but he doesn’t want to be too forceful… That is, until she leans down to lick the shell of his ear, and whispers:

“Fuck me, Arthur. I need you to fuck me. Hard, fast and now.”

He chokes on his loudest groan yet, and then he’s flipping them over so she is laid on the mattress below them. His kisses become rough and demanding and she responds with equal fervour; wrapping her legs around his waist and digging her heels into his backside to beckon him onwards. It takes a few, rough thrusts to find a rhythm, but once he does she is keening; arching her back off the bed in delight and clawing at his back. He is sure she will leave marks, but he doesn’t care. In fact, he finds he quite likes the idea. 

She slips a hand between them, and he can feel her fingers toying with that sensitive nub - her walls clench around him at the pleasure, and her panting increases as she begins thrusting back. He has to kiss her again to drown out her wails - though, even if the others did catch on to what they are up to, he doubts he would be able to stop himself.

“Pull out,” She gasps, and he does - despite every fibre of his being demanding that he ignores her. Before he can be too disappointed, however, she flips them and quickly takes him back in her mouth. Her free hand claws at his inner thigh, and the sensation - along with the magic of her mouth - pushes him over the edge. 

His eyes roll back in delight as he stifles a drawn-out moan with his arm, biting down so hard he almost draws blood. She releases him with a pop and crawls up the bed, where he pulls her in for a deep, grateful kiss. He can taste himself on her tongue, and it sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. She strokes his disarrayed hair from his face with a soft hand, and runs the other over his back. Arthur feels groggy with the comedown, but he soon realises from her laboured breaths and insistent kisses that she is yet to finish, too.

He takes her wrists and pins them to her side, and she bites her lip at the wave of arousal it sends through her. He begins kissing his way down her body, and frees her wrists to sprawl a hand across her lower abdomen. As he kisses her inner thigh, he begins tracing teasing patterns on her skin. Arthur glances up to watch her expression flicker between frustration and pleasure - a beautiful sight. When she is writhing underneath him, he finally brings his lips to her near-bare public region (again, thanks radiation) and places a soft kiss there. Uri presses a hand to her mouth, desperately fighting a delighted moan. 

Then, he slowly draws his tongue through her lips. And she loses control, bucking in surprise. His hands pin her waist down, and he begins exploring which movements draw the best reactions from her. He goes slowly, alternating between roughness and softness, bringing her close to the edge and then drawing her back. Her body burns with her need to just cum already, but she has an equal desire for it to never end.

“If I knew you’d tease, I’d’ve - ah - done the same to you.”

He just chuckles in response, and the vibration of it has her clawing at his hair. He decides to experiment with that some more - humming softly as he flicks his tongue against her clit, tightening his grip on her hips as she tries to grind against him. 

“Please, Arthur,” She whines, “I need to - just - use your fingers, too. You’re driving me crazy.”

“Then I have achieved my goal,” He purrs, but he finally gives in to her needs. He slides a finger into her, and begins thrusting slowly. It is pleasurable, but after having his cock inside her - it’s not enough. She grunts in frustration.

“Add another, and - fuck - arch them towards yourself.”

He does as she asks, and begins lapping at her clit again. It takes a minute of her squirming and him building a pace, but - eventually - the tips of his fingers brush against the spot that has her clenching around him. Her head rolls back onto the mattress - the image of him staring up at her with those storm-cloud eyes, pupils blown and lids hooded as he worked at her with such patience and focus, is stuck in her mind as she mutes the groan of her release by pushing both hands to her mouth. He groans too as she clenches around him, wishing to hell that it could’ve been his cock as opposed to his fingers. 

Arthur has seen art of the old world. He never thought he could find something so beautiful, generations after the bombs. But he was wrong. It would be a lie to call Uri the prettiest woman he has ever seen… But to him, she is that and more. Especially when she is sprawled out before him, with her forearm stuck to her clammy forehead. Naked and sated from his touch. His. No one else's. Something within him purrs possessively. In his current state, he feels he can hardly be blamed for goading her in for another kiss.

“Thank you,” she whispers. Her eyes are brimming with emotion. It reminds Arthur of the time he first launched a Fatboy. Blinding, terrifying… mesmerising. The fear begins to creep back in, but he’s as hopeless as those at ground zero. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry that I lied to you. I was afraid. It’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth.”

“It’s okay… This was as inevitable as it gets. There's always a thrill to going against the rules, but I think I like this even better.”

He nods and draws back, offering her a reassuring smile as he begins to dress himself. She remains on the bed, electing for her tattered blankets as opposed to clothes of any kind. With his coat slung over his shoulder, he leans down for one last kiss.

“G’night,” she mumbles.

“Goodnight, Uri.”

-

It’s Danse who she stumbles into the following morning. Her vision is blurred, her head is pounding and her stomach is churning. She is vaguely aware of a vomiting spell, but nothing is all that clear to her until later on. When she comes back round to her senses, she is sat on the worn couch of her Sanctuary home - with an IV plugged into her arm.

“Shit,” She coughs, realising what happened. She got radiation poisoning. After everything with Arthur, Uri had forgotten about her IV. 

“General. You’re awake.”

“Hmm,” She coughs again. “G’morning, Preston.” The Colonel of the Minutemen is sat with a coffee in one hand and a book in the other, though his attention is on her and her alone. 

“You should never have gone out into that storm, idiot. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” She mutters, as though that was meant to be obvious. Preston presses his lips into a line; eyes filling with annoyance. She sighs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I just forgot to take my radaway.”

“What the hell possessed you to forget that?” He hisses, “Uri, no offence - but you’re the most fragile person I know, when it comes to radiation. You might be the General, but if you’re going to be this reckless then I’ll damn well assign you a settler.”

“I don’t need babysitting,” She growls, “I fucked up, I apologised. Need I remind you that I’m the one who has to suffer the consequences? Now, if you’re going to lecture me, you can get off my couch. I’ve got enough of a headache as it is.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you… About the Brotherhood.”

“Please tell me you're not gonna chew my ear off with this, Preston.”

“I’m just curious… You said you were happy to take on the role of General, but then you disappear. When you return, you’ve got them with you. How did you manage it?”

She massages her temples as she answers. “I have a brother to find. I just-so-happened to save the Brotherhood’s Elder, and he agreed to help me. They have done a lot for me, Garvey. Don’t think I’ve forgotten our cause. Far from it. When this is all over, I’ll be more capable than ever. With Shaun back, there’ll be nothing left to distract me. This is good for the Minutemen - don’t worry.”

“Are they trustworthy?”

She turns to him, upon hearing this. He is staring at her intently - taking in her reaction. She hates how knowing he is. Uri Sanchez has always been an open book, but Preston has an uncanny ability to strip her thoughts bare in seconds. He shakes his head in a disapproving manner. She grinds her teeth and yanks the IV out her arm.

“I don’t need your permission. I know I have been absent - I’m telling you I will fix it. Don’t forget, I needed this training. I didn’t grow up in a radioactive wasteland. I need to find the only other person who’s as lost in time as I am, and I’ll be damned if anything gets in the way of that.”

With that, she storms out. Preston feels guilty for pissing her off. He wants to go after her… Ask her about this child. This one person she is dedicating her cause to - and what happens if she is thrown another curveball. It was difficult enough discovering that ten years had passed since Shaun was taken from their vault. Preston prays that she finds him, safe and sound, exactly as she had seen him in the old Merc’s memories.

Meanwhile, Danse finds the Elder pacing by the edge of the settlement’s stream. If it weren’t for Maxson’s nerves, it would be a peaceful place. The air is forgiving, this morning. Warm, but gifted with a soft breeze that keeps the humidity away. Perfect power armour weather. The Minutemen settlers can be heard tending to their crops and cattle - their voices no more than an inaudible hum from over Sanctuary’s protective walls. The Elder looks out of place in such a small enclosure… His impatience seems to be the result.

“Sir,” Danse salutes. The Elder does not return the gesture, which immediately strikes the Paladin as odd. After another moment spent pacing, he finally turns to his inferior.

“I slept with Knight Sanchez.”

Danse is not remotely surprised by this information. In fact, after a round or so with Kells - they decided to join in on the Knights and Scribes betting fiasco. Danse is now owed fifty bottle caps - but he keeps his expression dumbstruck. He is surprised by one thing - the fact that Maxson just admitted it to him.

“Sir, with all due respect… Why are you telling me this?”

It’s not the first time the twenty-two year old has looked beyond his years, but Danse is sympathetic. The way Maxson turns to the stream, keeping his emotional turmoil well-lidded, almost has Danse wondering if his feelings for the Knight are something… More.

“I don’t know,” he sighs, slumping his shoulders. Danse has no idea how to support his superior… So he just stands with him, offering him his silent - and uncomfortable - company.

“Paladin?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Never mention this to anyone.”

“Of course, sir.”

Looks like his fifty caps are going to have to wait.

“I want to go,” Uri hisses, boots crunching as she stomps towards them. The rad sickness must have been minor, as she hasn’t lost any more of her hair. Still, Danse doesn’t miss the concern on Maxson’s face as he looks her way.

“We will be leaving shortly,” he tells her. “A vertibird is on the way. We will have to go back to the truck stop you stopped us at, before.”

“Okay,” she nods… But suddenly her expression goes from sullen to delighted. Confused, Danse turns to see what she is staring at. There, on the bridge, a scrawny man waves at her - with a dog at his heels.

“Dogmeat!” Uri squeals, and then she’s running up the banking, and the dog is pouncing in her direction. She’s laughing when they finally meet, and he barks in delight - bathing her with sloppy, wet kisses. 

“Oh, I see how it is!” The man calls, sarcasm lacing every word. “Forget about me, Sanchez. I’m only the guy who’s taken care of him since you abandoned us.”

“Aww, Mac,” she pouts. When he is within reaching distance, she pulls him into a hug - then bounces back with his cap.

“C’mon, now!” He sighs, “We’ve talked about this.”

“I thought I was the boss?”

“Hah!” He scoffs, “You’d have to be paying me for that, sunshine.”

Uri rolls her eyes and tosses his hat back to him. She turns back to Arthur and Danse with a smile.

“Paladin, Elder - this is MacCready. Mac, this is Paladin Danse and Elder Maxson.”

“You’re with the Brotherhood, now?” MacCready’s expression darkens. “You’ve downgraded on the company you keep.”

“Uh-huh,” she rolls her eyes, “Why’re you here?”

“I brought your dog back!” He states, pointing at Dogmeat, “thought you’d appreciate the company.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” she kneels down to scratch Dogmeat behind the ears. When Uri speaks again, she coos as though the mutt is a baby. “Were you too loud for grumpy Uncle 'Cready, boy? C’mere, baby. Momma will look after you.”

“Still just as fucked up,” MacCready chuckles as he watches the display in fake-disgust. Danse glances at the Elder, wishing to convey his confusion. But Maxson is not paying attention. His eyes are locked on MacCready, and narrowed in distaste. He’s only ever seen the Elder look at three things, that way. Supermutants, Ghouls and Synths.

“Knight, it is time to leave.”

“But Red Rocket is just over the bridge,” she hugs Dogmeat to her protectively, “we’ll hear the Vertibird coming.”

“Wait-- Knight?” MacCready stammers, glaring at Uri. “You joined them?”

Arthur loses his patience. “This is none of your business, mercenary!”

MacCready just rolls his eyes, then turns to Uri.

“I get they have an airship and hefty guns, Ur. But you - you’re better than that. I know you are… All that we did for Duncan--”

“You’re right, Elder,” her demeanour goes cold, “Time to leave.”

MacCready and Uri lock eyes for a moment; he conveys his disappointment, and she tries to keep her guilt from becoming visible. She has a brother to find. Now is not the time for gaslighting. Dogmeat whimpers, presumably at the tension hanging around the humans surrounding him. Uri plants one final kiss atop his head.

“You stay with Preston, boy. And keep an eye on Mama Murphy. I’ll visit again soon, I promise.”

And, with that, they leave.

Uri is glad to be leaving Sanctuary. It’s name lost all meaning after the war, and these past few days have proven to be nothing but trouble. It’s fantastic that the Brotherhood and Minutemen have managed to start working towards a diplomatic relationship, but her argument with Preston - and subsequent disagreement with Mac - has set her nerves on edge. 

As they make their way to Red Rocket, Uri begins to question her recent methods. Preston is right - it was unfair of her to agree to the role of General, only to disappear. It is only made worse by the fact that she has been running around with a different faction the whole time… She remains quiet as they settle down at the checkpoint. Danse hadn’t realised just how accustomed he had come to having her fill the silence. He does now.

“My radio signal is poor, here,” He lies. “I’ll be down the road, if I am needed.”

“Excused, Paladin,” Arthur nods, pretending to believe him. Once Danse is out of sight, Maxson decides to head inside. It looks like any other place in the Commonwealth; old, rusted, and covered in filth. What makes truck stops particularly unpleasant is their stench. Over the years, coolant has eaten its way through the underground containers in which it has been stagnating for centuries. It is thick and metallic, it clogs up the throat with each breath, and leaves a poisonous after-taste that the Elder has never trusted. Worse - this one is littered with half-rotten mole rat carcasses. The sickening combination leads him to the place Uri has taken refuge - the garage, which just-so-happens to be the least disgusting part of the pre-war station.

She is sat on the ground, her bags forgotten by the door. For once, Arthur finds her expression unreadable. Instead of greeting him, she continues to polish Buster with a rag that looks filthier than the gun itself. After a tense moment of silence, she finally speaks.

“Did the closed door not give you enough of a clue? I want to be alone, right now.”

“And I want to get out of this hellhole, but our Vertibird is yet to arrive…” She glowers at her gun, so he holds his hands up in surrender. “This is the least disgusting part of the building, Uri. Don’t worry - I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

He sits himself against the nearest wall. He didn’t sleep very well, after everything that happened… He couldn’t stop going over it, again and again. The fear had come back tenfold - wondering what if, or what now? Despite it all, there is not an ounce of regret. All he has to do is think back to what Uri had said afterwards: this was as inevitable as it gets. In hindsight, she was right. That very first kiss was the seal of their fate, whether he understood that at the time or not. He glances over at her again - noticing the tension in her posture, the fire behind her narrowed eyes. She’s angry. Of course she is.

“Knight, please talk.”

“Oh - you’re asking now?” She snaps, refusing to look away from her handiwork. He continues to scrutinise her expression, and he can almost see her thought process. After a moment, she scoffs. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me!” She hisses. Finally, her eyes snap from the gun to him. She bounds to her feet, coiled for a fight. He merely frowns, and stays where he is.

“Was I the one who upset you? Or was it the Mercenary?”

“I think everyone I’ve come across has upset me, today--” her expression falters, “Except Danse. And Dogmeat. But you,” she snarls, “yes, you’ve pissed me off! Your jealousy is unwarranted and, if I’m being honest, it hurts that you think… That you feel the need...”

She falls silent, after that. She hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant for her voice to falter, or for her throat to clench itself shut. Uri pushes her way out the room, and he lets her - dumbstruck by her words. 

Embarrassed, Uri decides to join the Paladin on the roadside. Just in time, it seems. In the distance, hidden partially behind one of the day’s few clouds, a Vertibird can be seen. The Paladin greets her with a small smile, and she pats him on the shoulder.

“C’mon’ Cap. Time to head back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm 22. They're 22. If I were them, I wouldn't wait to fall in love, either. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> If anyone can guess which sex scene from what TV show inspired this chapter, I will be v. happy.
> 
> These two cannot go two minutes without infuriating each other. I am trying to calm them down, but it doesn't sit well. Just going to have to wait for their relationship to develop, I suppose.


	8. Blast Radius

“Uri!” Alice almost squeals as she rushes away from her work. One of the other Initiates had said she would find the teen here - assisting Scribe Neriah in her lab. Uri isn’t sure why, considering her combat abilities… But, she must admit, it is comforting to have her out of harm’s way.

“Hey!” Uri beams, “I was wondering if I could steal you away, for a while. Jenson told me you’d been down here all day.”

Alice quickly turns to Neriah, who offers Uri an amused smirk. “If it gets her to take a break, then _please_ do. No offence, Initiate, but I’m starting to worry - and that’s coming from _me_.”

“I’ll take the rest of the day off?” Alice offers, flushing sheepishly.

“Fantastic! Enjoy your leisure time.”

“I swear,” Alice huffs, as they make their way up the gridded walkway. “You’d think, consider everything that’s going on, they’d be happy to have someone so keen to work. Instead, they act like I’m a nuisance.”

“I hardly think it’s like that,” Uri soothes, “What’s with the change, anyway? I thought you’d been promoted to Knight, already?”

“Well, I _was_ . But after you got back from the Glowing Sea, I figured… We have so many Knights, and so many Initiates who want to _be_ Knights. If more of us were willing to give Scribe work a try, we may have had a _real_ radiation repellant by now. So, I spoke to Proctor Quinlan, and he was more than happy to assign me to Scribe Neriah. She is officially my sponsor.”

“Alice!” Uri pulls her into a hug, “Congratulations… And, thank you.”

“Y-you don’t need to _thank_ me,” she says, her cheeks turning pink.

“This calls for a celebration. C’mon, Scribe. We’re hitting the recreational area.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Alice shakes her head, “No, Uri. Not there. That’s for… Well, that’s for…”

“ _Everyone_ , except the higher ups,” Uri winks, “Drinks on me, kiddo.”

Uri can feel Alice’s unease as they descend the steps leading to the small, recreation area. There is already a handful of soldiers there - some wearing scribe gear, others knight gear… and even a put-out squire.

“We told ya, pal, this place is for the grown ups.”

“But… But…”

“Come on, Dan,” one of the female knights stands, leaving her beer behind as she wraps an arm around the young boy’s shoulders, “You can’t be down here. Trust me - you don’t _want_ to be. I swear, you squires are more mature than these ones, most days.”

“I heard that!” The man who had told Dan to leave chortles. The woman looks back with a scowl; he merely raises his glass before taking a healthy swig.

“Hey - we got us some company!” Another soldier, who looks to be in his late teens, booms. His eyes land on Alice, “You’re the hand-to-hand combat queen, right?”

“I - wouldn’t say _that_ ,” she stammers.

“She’s being modest,” Uri beams, “Scribe Friar over here is a woman of many talents.”

“Do any of these talents involve figuring out how to play old board games?” Another woman pipes up, flashing them the instructions for Blast Radius.

“Ohhh - I haven’t played that in _forever_ ,” Uri quickly heading over to find they do, in fact, have an intact copy of the game. “Hand me some vodka and a seat, and I’ll explain the rules.”

“We don’t have seats,” the instructions-holder smirks, “but you’re welcome to pull up some crates.”

The soldiers make room for Uri and Alice, who lay a crate on its side to form a makeshift couch. Once they’re settled, the guy who asked about Alice hands Uri a bottle of vodka. She thanks him graciously, enjoying the way it warms her insides, and then hands it to Alice.

“Alright - first things first, I wanna know my opponents. I’m Knight Uri Sanchez, and it seems you already know Scribe Alice Friar…”

The instructions bearer raises her palm, “I’m Knight Gina Wilson.”

“I’m Knight Victor Delecroix,” the young man winks, “And these two bozos are Knights James Taylor and Evelyn Jones.”

“We’re gonna need more people,” Uri hums, tapping her chin thoughtfully. Delecroix quickly spins on his chair.

“Hey, Scribes - wanna play?”

“What are you playing?” One of them asks, warily eyeing their makeshift table.

“Relax, Hay - it’s Blast Radius.”

“I’m surprised you managed to find one of those,” ‘Hay’ chuckles, then nods. “Sure, I don’t know the rules though.”

“That’s okay!” Delecroix gestures to Uri dramatically, “Knight Sanchez is here to save the day.”

“I’m Scribe Hayley Beaumont, and this guy,” She pats her friend on the back, “Is Scribe Hugo Underwood.”

“Nice to meet you,” Uri beams, “Please - pull up a crate.”

Once the scribes are settled in, she clears her throat and makes a show of tossing the instructions behind her back.

“Alright, so - it’s pretty simple, really. The board is divided into twelve sections, and each section has three stages - red is lethal, orange is wounded, and yellow is safe. They represent how far you are from the nuclear detonation. The _point_ of the game is to beat other players in reaching the safe distance quickest, while gathering enough supplies to survive.”

“But we’re going to play _my_ version. We’re gonna split into two teams. You have to nominate a team leader, and they spin the arrow on the mushroom cloud. It’ll land on one of the twelve sections, and they’ll roll to see which stage you’ll fall under. Numbers two-to-five are lethal, six-to-nine are wounded and ten-to-twelve are safe. That’s your starting position for the game. Then, it’s a matter of having each team take it in turns to spin, see where they fall, and discover what action they have to take. They may need to collect food, weapons, or even transport. Once you find out where you’ve fallen, you’ll roll again to figure out how successful you are. Numbers two-to-five are bad, six-to-nine are good and ten-to-twelve are legendary - you’ll get extra perks for those. For the quick play, we get twenty-four spins each. Whichever team is best off by the end, wins.”

“Sounds great!” Delecroix rubs his hands together, “Let’s do this!”

They split themselves into two teams of four, and elect their team captains - who they’ve decided to refer to as Paladin, whilst everyone else (for all intents and purposes) are Knights. Paladin Sanchez leads the Vault Squadron, made up by Knights Friar, Delecroix and Wilson, whilst Paladin Beaumont leads the Steel Squadron, made up by Knights Taylor, Jones and Underwood.

As a rendition of Rocket 69 begins playing on the rec area’s beat-up radio, Uri spins the cloud’s arrow, then rolls the dice. Section 4, number 8. She looks down at the skull and crossbones in the wounded section of the game with a frown.

“Alright, squadron. We’re in the wounded section when the bombs drop. I’m gonna say that these skulls represent ghouls… So, we’re holed up in an office block. We’ve heard the warnings, and hidden down in the basement when total atomic annihilation hits… How fucked are we?” She rolls the dice again. “Six. Alright… Not the best, not the worst. We’ve been unfortunate enough to be in one of the trickiest places to get out of, 'cause everyone on the six storeys above has immediately morphed into ferals. But, not to panic - the elevators have been shut off, and ferals are too stupid to wander down the steps. We have time to figure this out. For now, though - Paladin Beaumont.”

“Alright,” she smirks, taking the dice with thanks. Hayley spins the arrow, then rolls the dice. Section 2, number 12.

“Alright, Steel!” Uri cheers, “Congratulations, you have all officially made it to your very own Vault-Tec vault!” Everyone turns to her, expressions incredulous. Uri rolls her eyes, “I forgot what the triangles are, they’re pointing downwards - let's call 'em vaults. Anyway, roll the dice.” Number four. “Oh, now that - that is the bad news. Turns out, your vault was experimental - Vault-Tec built it purposefully to let radiation in. You four are the only survivors - everyone else has either died or ghoulified… And most are glowing ones. You’ve secured the overseer's office, but the creepy bastards know you’re in there. You’ve gotta think fast… Once you find out what your next roll has to offer.”

The game carries on, along with the drinking. Soon, Alice is flushed - head pleasantly clouded with a tipsy haze. Everyone is enraptured by Uri’s storytelling, even _if_ it’s looking grim for both the Vaults and Steels. Other soldiers from the decks above have found themselves crowded around the board, drawn in by the noise.

“Oh, crap - Del, you’ve got yourself _locked in_ with muties!”

“Shit!” He slaps his palm on the crate beneath him, “Alright. I’m rolling… Yes! Eight!”

“Alright!” Uri brings her hands together, “You’ve got lucky - you manage to find a shotgun, and the green giants are too busy feasting on their victims to know you’re there! You take them by surprise, and come out victorious! Sadly, they managed to land a shot to your shoulder. It’s gone clean through, but it’ll hinder your progress from here on out.”

Everyone around them hisses in sympathy, and Victor grimaces.

By the time they have finished their 23rd rolls, Steel Squadron have the upper hand. After managing to clear the vault and team up with a nearby settlement, exchanging repairs for defences, they are almost entirely set. Vault Squadron are doing ok, but their basement bunker is beginning to be overrun by refugees. Their food supplies are dwindling, and their farms are about to be hit by raiders. That’s when they roll a 12.

“Yes!” Uri yells, throwing her arms around a laughing Wilson. “Outstanding work, Knight! You have successfully found a weapons storage depot - there’s even T-45s! Those raiders don’t know what’s hit 'em, and we finally manage to snag the nuclear facility they’d been hiding in.”

“Underwood, your turn… Oh.”

“Damnit, Knight!” Beaumont whacks him on the back of the head, “If you weren’t about to die, I’d kill you myself!”

“Alright, Steel,” Uri chuckles, “You’ve rolled a two. Tragedy strikes. Turns out, the raiders who survived our ambush have decided they want _your_ land. When you next head out to trade with your allied settlement, they’re all dead. You’re surrounded. All four of you.”

“What’s your orders, Paladin?” Asks Jones.

“Fight. For the Brotherhood!”

“Ad Victorium!” They chant in unison. Uri clicks her tongue, and shakes her head sadly.

“You fought nobly, brothers and sisters. But they have you outnumbered, and - as the last soldier falls - you take comfort in knowing that the raiders may not find your vault.”

Silence falls upon them, for a moment. And then Alice leaps from her seat, and throws a fist in the air.

“Vault Squadron wins!”

Squadron Steel watch them with false bitterness as they celebrate, toasting amongst themselves and the members of the audience cheering for their team. Uri’s cheeks hurt from grinning. She’s pleasantly tipsy, just enough for her worries to subside for a while - and she’s had a damn good time bonding with her brothers and sisters in arms. She is also happy to see Alice so relaxed, and makes a mental note to inform Scribe Neriah of her downtime when she next bumps into her.

People begin to disperse, and Uri excuses herself - unable to stop herself from giggling when Ingram peeks her head down a floor, looking dumbfounded as she asks Uri just _what_ they’ve been up to. The look on the Proctor’s face, upon hearing of their board game adventure, is beyond priceless. Dizzy and flushed from alcohol, Uri throws an arm over Alice’s shoulders.

“See!” She chortles, “told ya it would be fun.”

“Uh-huh,” Alice forces herself to grimace, but her eyes are twinkling as she turns to Uri. “Don’t bank on me getting dragged into your antics more often, but thank you regardless.”

-

Arthur cannot concentrate. He was supposed to get through at least five status reports by 21:00 hours, but his mind is clouded by so many _feelings_. The Elder wants to regret what happened the night before. If he had never given into such basic desires, he would have had this work done and more… But then he thinks of the way Uri looked when she reached her orgasm, and the way her soft, brown eyes brimmed with emotion as she thanked him. No, he can’t even force himself to pretend he regrets it. He doesn’t. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

And that terrifies him.

He huffs out an agitated grunt and steps away from his terminal. It’s no use staring at a screen he can’t focus on. Instead, he begins rooting through his drawers for a towel and change of clothes. Hopefully, a shower and a decent night’s sleep will help clear his head. Arthur makes plans to get up earlier the following morning and power through the abandoned reports. Then, he should check in with Knight Sergeant Gavil. Oh, and Star Paladin Sykes.

Before Uri, he was perfectly content with such a train of thought. Now, however, he finds himself too tired to think of work. It’s ridiculous. He came to the Commonwealth to research energy readings and scout out hostiles. It is difficult enough proving yourself worthy of Eldership at his age without fawning over a relationship. Maxson feels like a common teenager. What _is_ it about this woman that’s changed so much about him? As he stands under the shower’s spray, he considers how their relationship has grown over the course of a few months.

Uri is fierce and extremely determined. She doesn’t seem to have any concept of humiliation. Hell, she’s come out with terms that have turned his stomach at times, yet she has never bat an eye. She is considerate and compassionate to a fault. He grimaces at her views on synths and non-ferals. It is an admirable quality nonetheless, but he would sooner die than admit that. She is funny, too. So funny. He cannot think of a time he has laughed so much as he has with her… And yet here he stands, constantly barking orders at her. Getting jealous over petty one-night-stands she has had in the past. She is so thoughtful and patient with him. And this is her repayment? He thinks back to what she had said earlier on.

_‘Your jealousy is unwarranted and, if I’m being honest, it hurts that you think… That you feel the need…’_

What _did_ he think? He wants to call it petty jealousy, but it feels deeper than that. Arthur considers her compassion, her strength and her little acts of kindness… How she has managed to make him laugh when all he has felt for so long is empty. And then, it hits him. Yes, he is scared. But he is not scared _of_ Uri. He is scared of losing her. Whilst inebrietated in Goodneighbor she had told him that she preferred MacCready anyway.

Arthur doesn’t want her to prefer anyone over him.

He curses under his breath, feeling ridiculous. Last night Uri had told him that she can’t ‘forget him’ - the way he sang along to the radio at Cabot house, the way he laughed with her, the way he relaxes whenever they’re alone. She doesn’t want to be his friend. She never has, and she never will. He grinds his teeth against the warmth in his stomach, feeling embarrassed at the way that makes him feel. He has never had anyone speak to him the way Uri has - both during the heat of an argument, but also privately. She has struck him with the most vicious verbal blows, yes. But she has also helped him see past Elder Maxson, and discover some of the old Arthur he lost along the way.

He doesn’t know what all of this means, but he knows that he needs to apologise. Only half-finished, the Elder steps out of the shower and pulls on a clean set of uniform. The Knight on guard seems surprised to see him when he steps out of his quarters, but she recovers in enough time to give him a quick salute.

As he makes his way through the Prydwen’s halls, Arthur becomes aware of how unusual it is for him to be walking around so late. The deck is mostly empty, but the soldiers he sees are talking and joking. Their casual tones morph into respectful salutes and greetings as he walks by, making him feel as though he is intruding on something private. He cannot see Uri from the doorway to the Knights sleeping quarters, and he really doesn’t want to make more of his soldiers feel awkward by walking in at such an hour. Realising that this was a stupid, rash decision, he turns to head back.

When he does, she is there - leaning against a wall, eyeing him suspiciously. Scribe Friar is beside her, looking sheepish as she salutes him.

“Scribe,” He nods, “Knight.”

“Elder,” Uri sneers, her tone mocking. He deserves this. He knows it, but it’s still difficult to _not_ scold her for insubordination in a public space.

“I was… I wondered…” Oh, God. Even Friar looks amused. “Would you take a walk with me? I’d like to speak with you, if you are willing to do so.”

Uri’s haughtiness disappears at his request. Not an order - a _request_. In front of so many subordinates, too. She can feel them all staring, and it’s unnerving. Not wanting to make a spectacle, she nods her consent.

“Shall we head to the forecastle?” She murmurs, glancing back at the others. “I know for a fact Delecroix will eavesdrop if he gets the chance.”

“I heard that, Sanchez!” He hollers. His chuckle is followed by a sharp hiss of pain, which Uri suspects is Alice’s doing.

The nice weather has lasted into the night, for which Uri is relieved. It’s alright for Maxson out here in his battle coat, but all she is wearing is her uniform - tied at her waist - and an off-white undershirt. The sky is clear and, thanks to atomic annihilation, clear of any light pollution. It feels as though billions of stars must be overhead. Uri stares up in awe, making sure she clings to the railing for support. She only turns away when Arthur clears his throat.

“I have spent some time thinking over my actions in Sanctuary, and I want to apologise,” He swallows against the swell in his throat. Why are his cheeks so hot? “The way I reacted to MacCready was ridiculous, and you have every right to be angry with me… I am sorry that I hurt you, Uri. I would never do it intentionally. This is all new to me, and I know I am far from perfect. But I am truly sorry.”

Uri knows her insides shouldn’t be melting at the common decency he is showing her, but this is kind of a big breakthrough for the brusque Elder. She’s on him in a heartbeat, reaching for his face to pull him into a tender kiss. He blinks in surprise, but then melts as she tightens her grip, hugging him tightly.

“I forgive you,” She sighs, “thank you for apologising, Arthur. I appreciate it.”

Well, this is certainly easier than having her be mad at him. Pleased with his breakthrough, Arthur holds her close. She shifts her arms so she can wrap them around his midsection, allowing the warmth of his coat to shift the goose-pimples from her skin. They stay like that for a while, gazing out at the Commonwealth below. Arthur starts stroking her back, after a while, and the comforting motion lulls Uri into a sleepy state. He feels her yawn into his chest, and finally draws back.

“You should get some rest,” He strokes her cheek, “We have a busy day ahead of us.”

“We do?”

“Indeed,” He smiles, though it is entirely without humour. “Tomorrow, if all goes to plan, we will finally head out to hunt down a Courser.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is slightly shorter than the last chapter - I just wanted to get an update to you guys. Doing a Masters is busy, busy work, and on top of that I am taking part in kinktober (shameless plug, will involve Uri/Arthur AU smut 12/10 recommend u check it out).
> 
> Blast Radius would definitely be a D&D type game I accept nothing less. Expect to see more of this in future chapters.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading! Once again this is unedited because I am a trash heap of a human being.


	9. Conference

Arthur’s quarters are far too small to accommodate everyone, so a temporary conference room has been set up on the second floor of the airport. This is where Uri finds herself at 0900 hours, wishing that she could just go back to bed. Or Arthur’s bed.  _ No _ , she shakes her head. She needs to stay focused. It’s kind of a big deal to be invited to such a prestigious meeting, as Danse had told her over seventeen times  _ before _ they left the Prydwen’s docking bay. The Elder called this upon their return to the Prydwen, according to the notes she is currently flicking through. So, he arranged a meeting about  _ her _ mission without letting her know until the  _ very last minute _ . 

Wonderful.

“Do you think they’re in there, already?” Danse murmurs, looking rather pale. If Uri wasn’t so fond of him she’d roll her eyes. Trust Paladin preppy to get nervous about meetings with the higher-ups.

“I don’t know, Sir. You’re my superior officer. Surely, if any of us is going to go in there, it should be you leading the way.”

“Har har, Knight. You’re a real comedian, you know that?”

“Cool your fusion core and knock on the damn door.”

To Danse’s relief, he never gets the chance. As Uri finishes her mocking order, the door is opened for them. There, beaming down at them, is Star Paladin Sykes. He grins widely as he notices the Paladin.

“Ahh, Danse. Wonderful to see you again!”

“Indeed, Sir,” He forces a smile and salutes his superior, “I thought the Elder had sent you out on recon?”

“Yes - well, the Glowing Sea gets tiresome after a month or so. I heard you both took a venture in there?”

“We did,” He grits. Uri frowns at the Star Paladin, considering how and who sent him on this so-called recon.

“It’s alright, sport. Most ranks below don’t last long against those rads. And don’t get me started on those giant mole rats.”

“Mole rats?” Uri raises a brow, “But there weren’t any--”

“Soldiers, if you would be so kind as to join us - we are about ready to begin.”

Arthur’s commandeering tone quickly shuts Uri up. Looking unfazed by whatever she was about to say, Sykes heads to the spot beside Lancer-Captain Kells and takes a seat.

_ Dick _ , thinks Danse. 

They take their seats at the end of the table, being the lowest-ranking members invited. Uri begins to feel bad for teasing her sponsor as they take their seats. He looks like a fish out of water, surrounded by so many superiors. Danse doesn’t strike Uri as the type of man who is used to being in situations like this. 

“Now,” Arthur begins, “I trust that you have studied the reports I sent out to you?” Everyone nods, “Excellent. Then I will not bore you with the fine details, but I do want to discuss your views on the matter. As you know, it is unusual for an Elder to step into the field, and I am very aware that Bunker Hill was an exception we could all get on board with. However, Paladin Danse and Knight Sanchez have recovered some highly important details from their journey to the Glowing Sea. The task at hand sounds simple - to build the Relay, we need a Courser chip. To get a Courser chip, we must kill a Courser. However, Coursers are not ordinary synths. These machines have been designed to hunt down escapees and bring them back to the Institute. Their SPECIAL skillsets are higher than even the highest of our members, which makes them extremely dangerous. Therefor, I would like to propose that  _ I _ go with Paladin Danse and Knight Sanchez to complete this mission.”

“ _ Elder _ ,” Hisses Kells, “You have only just returned from negotiations with the Minutemen. And, with all due respect, it was not that long ago that we almost lost you to the wastes. I am not sure that our soldiers would feel comfortable with this--”

“Comfortable!” Sykes guffaws, “You’ve spent too much time in that stuffy control room, Lancer-Captain. There is nothing comfortable about being a field operative. Elder Maxson was the finest Paladin this Chapter has seen in  _ years _ ,” He turns to Arthur, “Sir, I feel that your talents are half-wasted while you remain on the flight deck. Your strategic prowess is irreplaceable, but so are your combat skills. There is no Brotherhood member better suited for such a task. I would be happy to volunteer my services - my squadron are exactly what you will want for this task.”

Quinlan shakes his head, “No one is questioning your abilities, Elder. There is no argument against sending you, as our best tactician and field operative. But… The Knight,” His eyes fall to Uri, and her shoulders immediately stiffen, “I fear she is not ready for such a task. I would implore you to take another, more experienced member--”

“This Knight survived the Glowing Sea, Quinlan,” Ingram grumbles, “If she wants to head out on a second suicide mission, so be it. You’ll be fixing up your own power armour, though.”

“I won’t be taking my power armour, Proctor Ingram.”

Quinlan looks appalled.

“Not taking --  _ Sir _ , surely this proves my point? We have all seen her records. She is a pre-war vault dweller, and this is a highly dangerous - and top-secret - mission.”

Uri’s face is thunderous as she flies to her feet. “With all due respect,  _ Proctor _ , I don’t appreciate your tone. I may be a vault dweller - and a pre-war one, at that - but that does  _ not _ make me any less capable than all the others in your arsenal. I would remind you that it was  _ I  _ who helped the Elder. Whilst the rest of your soldiers succumbed to the Institute’s gen twos, I was the one who helped keep him safe.  _ Me _ : a lowly vault-dweller posing as a damn  _ prospector-- _ ”

“ _ Enough! _ ” Arthur growls, forcing the room into silence. But Uri isn’t done. There’s that familiar fire behind her eyes, and the Elder knows that Quinlan has pushed her too far. Nothing can tame her now. Not until she has said what she needs to say

“Apologies, Elder. I did not mean to offend you in any way. I merely wanted to remind everyone else that I am perfectly capable of carrying out my duties. This meeting is not about me - it’s about deciding whether or not the Elder should accompany us. Personally, I would rather he stay on the Prydwen. However, I understand that - as a mere  _ Knight _ ,” She snarls her title mockingly, and Quinlan’s hand twitches in what she suspects is a flinch, “my opinion is not important. But, perhaps it will reassure you all that I do not want Elder Maxson to come with us as my  _ bodyguard _ .”

“ _ Knight Sanchez _ ,” Arthur stands, using the commanding voice he used to bring them all to attention. The warning behind his words sends an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. Embarrassed, the Knight slinks back into her seat and watches as silently as the rest of them as he begins to pace the head of the table.

“As I was going to saying, before I was  _ interrupted _ ,” He flashes a glare in her direction, “This mission will require a heavy amount of stealth. For that reason, our power armour would have to be left behind. Thank you for your concern, Proctor Quinlan - but the Knight, Paladin and I have lasted out in the wasteland without it enough. It may hinder our progress, against such an intelligent machine. The Institute will have databanks full of information on the T-51 armour. Without it, we will be less predictable.”

“That’s… Actually a fair analysis,” Gavill nods, “Elder, I am not opposed to you partaking in this mission. I only ask that the three of you alert me to any potential loot you find in the process.”

“I will grant your request,” Arthur nods. Upon surveying the others, who look lost in contemplation, he decides to continue. “I would not come to you with this if I did not think you were capable of retaining control while I am in the field. With any luck, this will only take a day or two. Knight Sanchez can use her Pip-Boy to communicate with the Lancer-Captain’s crew, should we need assistance. Our starting point will be at the old CIT ruins… The Paladin and Knight have already faced the greatest threat so far. As dangerous as synths are, there is statistically less danger faced on  _ this _ mission than stepping foot into the Glowing Sea.”

Uri wants to make a joke about how, statistically, there’s also less chance of her losing what little hair has grown back. She decides against it.

“If I may, Elder?” Danse murmurs from beside her. Arthur nods, and the Paladin leans forward in his seat. “I believe that the best course of action would be for you to remain here. But, it appears that your mind is set. I just want to let you know - it is not because I believe you are incapable, but because… Well--”

“I can word it for you, Danse,” Ingram scoffs, “you’re far too proper to say it. Elder, I think we can all agree that you would not be putting yourself in this position if not for Knight Sanchez.”

Ingram’s bold statement plunges them into a silence like no other. The room wasn’t comfortable before addressing the elephant head on, but now… The tension is the equivalent of wading through a mirelurk nest. Uri sees it in the way her superiors’ shoulders stiffen; how their eyes dart from place-to-place, falling on anything but their Elder. Uri braves a glance upward. His eyes are thunderous, yet he remains silent. Everyone remains  _ silent _ , and she realises - he doesn’t know what to say. Because he knows she’s right. And everyone else is too scared to back Ingram up. 

It’s a good thing Uri is present.

“If we’re not going to discuss anything productive then I’m leaving,” She makes a show of stretching as she stands. Uri refuses to let them see her embarrassment. She would rather they yell at her than see any sign of weakness.

“Sit down,” Arthur snaps. The broken silence feels like a respite, so the sharpness that had her cowering before is now nothing but reassuring. Everyone has turned to her and, with that, the tension lessens. 

“With all due respect, Sir, I didn’t join the Brotherhood to have my superiors attempt to gossip in board meetings.”

“I assure you, Knight, Proctor Ingram is pushing far past her bounds. This is not by any means a common topic. I suggest that no one attempts to discuss it again.”

The Proctor looks torn. On one hand, she wants to challenge their false bravado. Uri knows they can see through it. These people have probably known Arthur since he was a child. They must see that  _ something _ has changed. But Ingram is a smart woman. Although Arthur is not threatening her openly, he will make her regret pushing it any further. Arthur’s eyes scour the room, and Uri gets a taste of why he has risen so high in the Brotherhood’s ranks. His glare feels like claws on the back of her neck. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he could skin a man with a look that brutal. Everyone nods, and she notices the tightness in his shoulders lessen ever-so-slightly.

“Outstanding. So, I am going to assume we are all in agreement. I will join Paladin Danse and Knight Sanchez on their mission. Whilst I am gone, you will continue to carry out your roles. Lancer-Captain Kells will act as commanding officer in my absence, but I do not want to hear of him being torn away from his official duties upon my return. Understood?”

The soldiers express their agreements and salute him. It makes Uri want to smack Ingram round the back of the head. Contrary to Quinlan’s opinion of her, she does not actually  _ want _ Arthur to come with them. If anything, she agrees with Ingram’s analysis. Uri just wishes that her superior had worded it better. 

“Excellent. Paladin, Knight, We shall make the arrangements aboard the Prydwen. Now, onto other matters...”

The remainder of the meeting is like watching paint dry. Half the stuff being talked about goes over Uri’s head, and the remainder is in regards to the Prydwen’s maintenance or food supplies. She wishes that Arthur had dismissed her. After Ingram’s outburst, she finds herself craving some alone time. As they wrap up their discussion on something they keep referring to as Prime, Uri considers what to do in the free time she will have before meeting Danse and Arthur later.

“Excellent. That is everything covered, for the time being. Once we return from our mission, we will reconvene to discuss the next course of action. Dismissed, soldiers. Except for you, Knight. I’d like a word.”

“Of course, Elder,” Uri nods. Danse asks her to find him once she returns to the Prydwen, and she agrees through gritted teeth. The Star Paladin is the last to leave. Once he has, Arthur closes the door behind him and turns to her.

“Apologies. I didn’t expect Ingram to suspect anything. Do you think Paladin Danse may have mentioned anything?”

“Danse?” Uri quips a quizzical brow, “Why, did he hear us or something?”

“No, no. I… Ah, may have told him.”

The Elder rubs the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward under her watchful gaze. Upon hearing him admit this, Uri cannot help but smirk.

“Guessing you liked it, then?”

“Ridiculous question,” he grumbles, and she laughs. When he meets her eyes again she is stood directly before him, standing on her tiptoes to lightly brush her lips over his.

“We could do it again. I’m really not picky. Hell, I’d let you take me on this table--”

“Uri,” he sighs, taking a step backwards. Arthur hardens his expression into a glare, but Uri doesn’t miss the pink tinge to his cheeks. She laughs again but drops it. After a moment, she becomes serious.

“Are you sure this is the best course of action? I really don’t think having the Elder voluntarily step on the field is going to go down well. The only reason they agreed was because of Ingram.”

“ _ Proctor _ Ingram,” He corrects her without thinking, which results in an exasperated eyeroll. “Yes, I think it is right. It isn’t entirely about you. I also think my soldiers need to see me lead by example. If we can take down a Courser, then they will know that I’m not just barking orders that I won’t carry out myself.  _ This  _ way, I can keep an eye on you in the process.”

“Arthur, no,” she shakes her head, “I don’t want protecting me to be any sort of reason for you to do this. You’re just proving Proctor Ingram right… If she is right, then I don’t want her to be. You are Elder. You have heaps of Paladins and Knights at your disposal. You don’t  _ have  _ to do this, and you’re kidding yourself if you actually think you do. Danse and I survived the Glowing Sea - we can survive a super-synth.”

“Humour me with this: if you were in my position, in that I was the one telling  _ you  _ to stay whilst I went into one of the most dangerous missions the Brotherhood has faced in the Commonwealth, would you idly sit back and watch me leave?”

Uri pauses for a moment, then curses. 

“My point exactly,” He folds his arms, looking far too smug for Uri’s liking. “We will discuss a plan of action later. For now, prepare yourself - some leisure time before we head out is more than well-deserved.”

“Sounds good to me,” Uri nods.

“Dismissed. I will see you back at the Prydwen.”

Uri decides to spend the rest of her morning sat by the edge of the battered runway, overlooking the sea. She never liked comics before the war, but they seem to have favoured well over the years post-nuclear annihilation. So, she settles down with the first issue of the Unstoppables, losing herself in the fantasy world of anti-communist propaganda, occasionally pausing to snack on some dandy boy apples. The little things like this remind her of the life she has lost, and how far she has come since emerging from the vault. 

The last time Uri kicked back like this was before meeting Arthur. Although she is growing to enjoy the constant company surrounding her, it is still nice to spend a little time by herself. It ends far too soon for her liking. Before Uri knows it, a squire is informing her that the bus is heading back to the Prydwen for its last trip of the day, so she packs her things and heads on up. After making a stop at her footlocker, she begins searching the ship for Danse. He is sat on an old crate in the pit, working on his heavily modded laser rifle. As soon as he spots her, he grimaces.

“Where have you been?

“Relaxing. It was nice. You should try it sometime.” 

Danse rolls his eyes and sets down his tools. 

Arthur is ready to go when the arrive, having stuffed his duffle with a weapon she has never seen before. She forgets herself as she unzips the bag further, eyeing the unique monster of a gun. Uri recognises that this is a gatling laser, yet it is unlike any she has laid eyes on in the past. 

“Holy  _ shit _ , that gun’s almost as big as I am. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were overcompensating.”

Arthur balks in surprise, and Uri decides it’s  _ completely _ worth the insubordination to watch him reel back. His face flushes in a mix of anger and humiliation; Danse looks positively horrified, dropping the pack of fusion cores by the gatling without laying eyes on it  _ or _ her. 

“Post-war men,” She sighs dramatically. If Ed were still alive, he’d have joined in on her sex jokes without hesitation. Ah, the comedic duo they made... “Alright, let’s get down to business. Once we figure out a game plan, we can  _ finally _ go get that damn Courser chip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! So soon! (I don't know how I've managed to do this I've also managed to get so much uni work done I think I'm hyperfunctional right now).


	10. Greentech

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are graphic depictions of gore in this chapter: you have been warned.
> 
> *usual schpeel about not proofreading yada yada*

“This place was beautiful, before,” Uri sighs, eyeing the decrepit walls of the CIT ruins. The wings have given out over time, collapsing in amongst themselves. The scaffolding from repair works hangs precariously on to the areas that remain - though this, too, has rusted over the years. Some of it lays dotted amongst the crumbled stone and dank, long-dead grass.

“It was full of those who took science too far, Knight. Don’t let its looks fool you.”

“I knew this place _way_ before you were born, kiddo. Now c’mon - there’s an old apartment block around the corner. It was made especially for the snotty brats who studied here. Should be the perfect place to leave our supplies… I’m not letting this pack of stuff slow me down.”

Arthur grumbles in annoyance, but gestures for Danse to follow. The apartment block in question is only a short walk away - close enough for them to rush to if the need arises, but far enough away to make sure no synths can stab them in their sleep. A group of radroaches have deemed the old place their nest, so they waste a good hour clearing all five floors of the overgrown pests before they find a suitable space.

“Hmph,” Uri sneers, eyeing the room in contempt, “Look at this. Look at how _big_ their apartments were. Folks working twelve hour shifts could barely afford food, yet this lot were living the high life on their super-inflated student loans. Fucking House with his stupid finance schemes. Helping the rich gain capital while the world went to shit.”

Arthur, once again, has no clue what she is rambling on about. Danse looks as baffled as he feels, so they leave her to it. She is right about one thing: the room is fairly big, with lots of storage space for them to hide their supplies. They stack their food in the wardrobes, toss any old clothes they find on the L-shaped sofa in the corner of the room and hide their overabundance of signal grenades in an old safe.

“Alright,” Arthur sighs, perching on the end of a double bed. He hands Uri the can of purified water he has just opened, which she takes gratefully. “It’s best we tune into the radio station. I’m going to assume that _something_ about it will change whenever a Courser relays to the CIT ruins?”

“I think so,” Uri hums, returning his water so that she can toy with her Pip-Boy’s radio. She finds the station with relative ease, and a soothing cacophony of strings and high-pitched keys fills the room. Uri grimaces. “I hate classical music. I should’ve asked Virgil when synth rush-hour takes place.”

There is an old truck full of irradiated barrels sat stagnating in the old college square, so the trio decide to use a nearby caravan as shelter until Uri’s Pip-Boy finds the signal they need. Arthur volunteers to take the first watch, so he kneels by the window whilst Danse and Uri stand in the shadows.

For a while they remain silent, as occasional gunshots put the group on edge. As the hours tick by they come to realise that the battle is too far away for them to worry about, so Danse finally removes his helm and turns to Uri.

“So, what was it like before the war?”

“This place?” She clarifies, and the Paladin nods. “It was beautiful. Only the smartest studied here, so you can imagine I stuck out like a sore thumb. I didn’t care, though. I wasn’t a student - _obviously_ \- but I used to hang out here in the summer. The gardens were a lot prettier; full of flowers and grass, students lounging around with textbooks that gave the bible’s girth a run for its money, friends tucking into store-bought picnics...”

“What’s a picnic?”

“Oh, uh - it’s a lunch that you take to a park or garden, you take pre-packed sandwiches and stuff in a basket, lay out a blanket and eat there. It was just a cute thing to do in your spare time.”

“Considering all the activities civilians could participate in, a picnic sounds the least entertaining.”

“Oh?” Uri grins, “I’ll bite. What would _you_ do, Cap? If I had a time machine and could take you back to my day, where would you like to go?”

“Easy. I would want to drive a car.”

“A car? _Really_? All that tech, and you’d pick a car?”

“Cars are fascinating. The concept of travelling long distances in a short space of time is incredible. It took months for my recon team to arrive in the Commonwealth, but by car it may have taken mere hours.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” She nods, then turns to the Elder. He is still gazing out the window, but Uri can tell that he is no longer paying attention to the outside world. “What about you, Arthur? What would you like to do?”

The Maxson heir would be lying if he said that he had never thought about this, before. As a child, he often daydreamed about the world before the war. Especially after his classes on pre-war History. After his tutor showed him his very first holotape video and told him about drive-in theatres, Arthur had been dying to visit one for himself. Of course, he does not bring this up. Instead, he says:

“I would visit Mariposa Military Base. Roger Maxson was based there. It would be an honour to meet our founder.”

Uri, unsurprisingly, rolls her eyes. She claims that even Danse’s answer was more exciting, but Arthur ignores her complaints. He is tempted to order them to shut up, but he could hardly blame it on tactics. They are speaking in hushed tones, and they could be stuck here for hours. Arthur does not want to question why he feels so nervous. A raven has just landed on a nearby tree, so he distracts himself by watching it survey the ground below.

“Shit! Can you hear that?"

Arthur snaps his gaze over to the Knight as she turns up the volume of her Pip-Boy. They listen intently, fighting the tinkling of piano keys to see if they can catch it again. It was fast and faint, but Uri is certain that she heard a static beeping. She curses softly and begins toying with the device’s signal. And, by some miracle, she picks up a new signal - this time, the beeping rings loud and clear. Her eyes light up.

“That’s it! _That’s_ the signal!”

“Let’s move out,” Danse says, taking the safety off his laser rifle.

Following the signal proves to be half the battle. There are raider clusters throughout this area of the Commonwealth, and running around with an obnoxious signal blaring from your wrist cancels out Uri’s preferred method of stealth. She gets lucky on a number of occasions. Without Arthur’s hand-to-hand combat and Danse’s speed with a laser rifle, the vault dweller worries that her chances would have been bleak. Finally, by some miracle, the bleeping turns to a shrill shriek that has Uri racing to shut the radio off. When she looks up, she is met by a tower of a building. What was once flashy green paint has faded and chipped, revealing sections of the rusted metal underneath. There is no logo to signpost the purpose of this place, which puts Uri on edge.

“Scribe Haylen mentioned this place. From what I can remember of her report, this place was locked tight. She marked it down as ‘Greentech Genetics’ for recon once backup arrived.”

“Know anything about it, Knight?”

Uri rolls her eyes, “yes, sir. I, a twenty-two year old civilian-slash-party animal knew everything about seedy, secretive corporations and their operations.”

“I merely _asked_ ,” he snaps back, and the Knight rolls her eyes. Arthur has to clench his jaw to keep his temper in check. “Well, it mustn’t be locked any more. Paladin, try the door.”

Danse does as commanded, and the old door slides open. This catches the Paladin by surprise - but not Uri, who immediately creeps onwards.

Greentech Genetics has not favoured well over the years. Like many buildings throughout the wasteland, it has fallen into a dire state of disrepair. The cracked tiles of the floor are strewn with fallen debris; mixtures of crumbled concrete, old pipes and metal that has rusted to the point of flaking off the walls it once protected. Luckily, it is one of few buildings with working power. At least half the bulbs are dead, but whatever is left provides them with enough lighting to get a clear picture of their surroundings. They have entered into a short hallway, adorned with nothing but a couple of old plant pots. Uri steps through the open doorway ahead, and stops short at the dead body sprawled across what seems to have been the receptionist’s desk.

“Gunner,” She says, keeping her voice low. “Can’t have been dead long. This place stinks, but not enough for there to be rotting bodies… Nothing good on him, either. C’mon - those stairs have given way, but it looks like there’s another way through that door over there.”

Navigating through the collapsed hallways proves to be quite the challenge, but they eventually find themselves on the next floor. Uri has just lead them onto a bridge overlooking the reception area when a voice startles them into action.

“ _The Courser’s on the second floor! Kill on sight. Send reinforcements to the lobby incase there are more_.”

“Watch it,” Danse warns, “the Gunners are smarter than raiders. Expect turrets and a _lot_ of gunfire.”

“Gotcha,” Uri nods, then curses as she spots a blur of green bolt out from one of the doorways up ahead. She quickly takes care of the armed woman with VATs, but there’s more where that came from. Arthur finally feels it is time for Final Judgement to get in on the action. Whilst Danse and Uri exchange fire with the Gunners, the Elder aims for any and all turrets in sight.

“Up there!” Uri yells, pointing to their right. They can see gunfire being exchanged on the floor above - before she can be stopped, she charges ahead; narrowly missing a shot from some unseen turret. Danse curses, and Arthur growls.

“Slow down! You’ll get yourself _killed_.”

“I got it!” She assures him. The turret, which was once attached to the wall above, falls into a crumpled heap mere feet away. Uri makes a show of blowing the tip of Buster, then ignores Danse as he attempts to reprimand her.

There is an elevator nearby, but it turns out to be bust. So they follow the trail of bodies they have left to the next floor. The Brotherhood soldiers run into more Gunners along the way, but they are no match for Final Judgement. Uri is loathe to admit it, but bringing Arthur along has turned out to be excellent for productivity. They tear their way through enemies with ease, following the sounds of distant shrieks and gunfire. The trio are halfway up the stairs to the next floor when the intercom flares up once more.

“ _The Courser is now on the third floor! Reports of the second intruder in the east wing near the courtyard._ ”

Clearing out the Gunners becomes methodical, but Arthur grows uneasy as they get closer to the now constant screaming. He tries to tune it out, but it is hard to ignore people begging for their lives. Uri’s heart is in her throat as they enter the next elevator. It opens into a large, shaft-like chamber, the centre of which holds a locked security door. They ignore this for the time being and follow the horrific wails to the floor above. Each steps feels far too terrifying for the sole survivor, but she forces herself onwards. This is the only way she will get to Shaun. She cannot let Nate and Nora down, not after she has managed to get this close.

Their voices ring clearer now.

“I don’t know the password! I’m telling the truth!” A voice weeps. _Weeps_.

“I don’t believe you are.”

The difference in tone makes Uri cringe, and the effect is not lost on the Elder and Paladin behind her. Danse blinks at the door ahead, hating how his blood seems to turn cold at the empty monotone of the Courser’s voice. Arthur, on the other hand, feels his temper flare. It sounds robotic, of course… But it is nothing like the voice of the Gen-1s and 2s. No, _this_ robot sounds human. He pushes ahead of Uri into the next room, and leads the way up the final staircase.

“Oh, God! Please… No!”

“Please, PLEASE! You don’t have to--!”

Another gunshot silences the second voice, and the first breaks into crushing sobs.

“All he had to do was tell me the password. Now, are _you_ going to cooperate?”

Uri feels sick. Many a time she has had to deal with her fight or flight instincts, but never has she gone against them as much as she does in this moment. Every inch of her regrets coming here - putting herself in this position, getting so close to this terrifying monstrosity the Institute have created. At this point, the only thing that keeps pushing her forward is her inability to let Arthur go in there alone.

“Please, don’t shoot! Let me _think_!”

Luckily for the Gunner, the Courser is not paying attention to him. Instead, its eyes are on Arthur… Who has frozen in place. Uri has seen Gen-3s before, so the Courser’s appearance comes as no surprise to her. Arthur and Danse, however, are rooted in place by sheer horror.

The man before them - because that’s the only way they can describe him: a _man_ \- is dressed in a black, leather coat that reminds Uri of something from an old action movie. His skin looks entirely biological, and seems to be slightly damaged from the sun. He wears his long hair tied back, and carries nothing but an Institute-standard laser rifle. Uri eyes the dead bodies at his feet, and suddenly her fear turns to rage. Each Gunner had their hands and ankles tied. They were completely defenceless, and this monster killed them anyway.

“You,” He frowns, “Are you here for the synth?”

“Me? No, not the synth.”

“If you’re not here for the synth, then you’re here for me. What do you want?”

His eyes are void of all emotion. If Uri wasn’t so angry, she would recoil in fear. Instead, she stands her ground.

“Who is she?” Uri demands, pursing her lips as she glances at the locked door behind him.

“A fugitive. Runaway Institute property. I’m shutting her down and bringing her back. You, on the other hand, will die like the--”

The Courser’s words are cut short as he begins to choke on his own blood. Uri jumps back and gawps at the gaping, cauterised hole in the centre of its chest. She spins on her heels. There, Arthur is standing with Final Judgement still aimed at the monster’s lifeless body. The hatred in his eyes reminds her of old-world hurricanes, for he could incite the same sort of havoc with anger so palpable.

Danse walks towards the body with a furrowed brow. After a moment, he breaks the silence.

“So, that’s the supposedly terrifying Institute Courser? Didn’t put up much of a fight. I’ve killed ferals that were more tenacious.”

“I mean, Arthur _did_ just zap his entire chest out. You’ll hate me for saying this - but Gen-threes are _basically_ human.”

“That _thing_ was not human.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Uri rolls her eyes, “A damn Deathclaw wouldn’t have survived _that_. Did you change the settings or something?”

“E-excuse me?”

The trio turn in unison to the source of the voice. There, inside the locked room, is a young girl. She is dressed in rags, and looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks. Her frail hands are clasped together. Uri can make out the rope burns underneath the bindings on her wrists.

“I know you’re not here for me, but… I can’t get out. Not on my own.”

“Who are you?” Uri asks, lowering Buster.

“We can talk when you open the door. Please. I promise - I won’t run. The guard put the password in a toolbox over there, under the stairs. Use it to gain access to the terminal and open the door.”

To the disbelief of both Arthur and Danse, Uri heads straight to the toolbox and pulls out the password. Once she has put the key into the terminal, the door glides open - and the haggard woman rushes to the door.

“Thank you! I don’t know what to say.”

“No need for thanks… Now, will you tell me who you are?”

“My… Institute designation is K1-98. But I prefer Jenny. So yes, I’m a synth. If you hadn’t already--”

Suddenly, Jenny ducks behind Uri. For a moment she is confused, until she turns to see Arthur pointing Final Judgement directly where the synth had been stood.

“Put that _down_.”

“Stand aside!”

“Arthur Maxson, I said _put that down. Now.”_

“Knight!” Danse hisses, “Remember who you are talking to! I am ordering you to _stand aside_.”

“She’s _innocent_!” Uri snarls. “That thing you just took out - the Institute sent that to capture her. Don’t you _get it_? Jenny is running away! And you’re going to damn well let her _live_!”

“A _synth_ is a _synth_. You are protecting the enemy!”

“ _P_ _lease_ ,” She yells, full of desperation. Uri racks her brain for the right thing to say, and quickly remembers something she had read a few weeks ago. “Th- the codex! Our very constitution states that ‘through discourse, we will gain the strength of our Brothers’ minds.’ We can’t gain that strength if we are not willing to _listen_ to other points of view. _Please_ , Arthur! She’s just a _kid_!”

Uri's not sure if the synth is a kid, but she looks to be around sixteen. To the frightened vault dweller, it’d be like killing Alice. This synth made a choice to leave the Institute. Uri can feel her hand trembling against her shoulder. They can’t kill her. _They can’t_. Arthur sighs, then sets Final Judgement aside.

“Thank you,” She breathes out of sheer relief.

Jenny reluctantly pulls herself away from Uri.

‘I-I am going to gather supplies and leave. Thank you for saving me, Miss.”

“Please,” the Knight manages a smile, “Call me Uri.”

As the Synth begins scouring through old filing cabinets, Uri turns back to the Courser. He is still sprawled across the floor, limbs outstretched and wide-eyed. It had seemed so cold in life… It’s twice as chilling to see his fear in death.

“Paladin?” he stands to attention upon hearing Uri speak. Before, he had been eyeing the spooked - but alive - Gunners. Now, he turns to her without hesitation.

“Sanchez?”

“We need to crack this thing’s skull open. I figured you might have some idea as to _how_ \-- oh, _God_.”

As Uri continued to ramble on, Danse had closed the distance between the Courser and himself. Once he reaches it, he lifts a boot and brings it down on the synth’s head. It gives after the second attempt - skull cracking to reveal now oozing brain matter. Its left eye bulges from the damaged socket, and it takes everything in the Knight to _not_ vomit.

“I thought you had done this before,” Danse huffs, referring to Kellogg.

“The Detective did it, not me. I’m pre-war. I’m soft. I didn’t sign up for any of this.”

“And we did?” Danse says, but there is humour in his tone. Uri watches from behind her fingers as he digs a gloved hand into the matted brain. After a moment or two, he hisses in delight. When he pulls away, there’s a chip no bigger than an old quarter pinched between his finger and thumb.

“That’s _it_?” Uri gapes, forgetting the grisly scene before her. As she inspects the Courser chip, Arthur turns to the synth girl. The thing is fishing through an old box, now. Scavenging whatever scrap it can get its filthy hands on. His anger flares once more. It shouldn’t be taking _anything_. The Brotherhood may find something useful amongst all of this. For all they know, it could be lying to them. What if the Institute staged all this? What if it is here to take the hidden secrets of this place for itself? Or worse: for _them._

“I can’t believe this is all that separates them from--”

“NO!”

The screech that interrupted Uri is cut off by a horrific gargling sound, and she doesn’t have to turn around to know what’s happened. She feels sick. She doesn’t want to look. She wants to pretend that this is not happening. That Arthur listened to her. That he _didn’t_. But she is not that naive. Or is she? Her heart is in her stomach as she finally spins on her heel, and the sight she is met with has her doubling over.

Arthur is stood glowering at Jenny, wearing an expression of pure hatred as he clasps his combat knife in a tightened fist. Jenny has collapsed on the ground, and blood pools around her as it pours from the fatal wound in her neck. Uri wants to scream, but it seems that her desire to vomit has come back tenfold. The Elder’s choice of execution even surprises Danse, but the Paladin does not say a word. Once Uri has finished dry-heaving, she turns to Maxson.

“ _Monster_.”

It’s all she can manage to rasp out in-between her heart-wrenching sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Arthur. What did you just do...?


	11. Worst In Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Guy Fawkes Day/Bonfire Night to all my fellow Brits (and everyone else) out there! Enjoy. :)

The sun has just finished rising when Uri and Danse reach Starlight Drive In. The Paladin had begged Uri to find somewhere to stay for the night, but she had vehemently refused. When the settlement guard finally lets them through the main gates, the duo stumble over to a cabin Danse can only assume belongs to her. There is a bunk bed pushed into the corner of the main room, and it is here that he collapses in an exhausted heap.

“ _Go with her_ ,” Arthur had commanded. “ _Keep her safe_.”

It is this that eventually drags the Paladin out of sleep. He immediately notices that the sun is beginning to set, and curses. He slept the entire day away.

“Your bodyclock will fix itself. You needed to rest.”

He turns to the source of the voice, and quickly forgets his frustration. Uri is sat on an old, worn couch in the centre of the room. On the coffee table before her stands a silent radio, a half-drank bottle of wine and her holotags. She has wrapped herself in a blanket, but Danse can see that she is no longer wearing her Brotherhood uniform. He immediately wants to reprimand her, but he remembers Arthur’s words. _Keep her safe_. He never said keep her subordinate, and Danse hardly thinks that will help his primary objective.

“Have you slept?”

She shakes her head.

“Would you… Do you want to talk?”

Uri turns to him, now, though her expression is fairly hostile. She looks exhausted, but he knows that she will refuse to sleep. As she studies him, he wonders whether she has at least eaten.

“There’s nothing to really talk about… Maxson made his views quite clear, and for some stupid reason I ignored that. I _enabled_ it. Me. Someone who has experienced racism before. Sure, it was over a lifetime ago, and people don’t judge difference based off of skin colour anymore. But that isn’t an excuse. I just watched someone who thinks they are superior to another execute them for their race alone. I _cared_ about him, Danse,” her voice cracks at the admission. “Hell, I might have even trusted him… What a stupid mistake.”

The next few days are challenging. The Paladin is not used to being in a single place for so long. Not after Cambridge. He volunteers to lead hunting-gathering expeditions, but the settlers are wary of venturing _too_ far. He misses the Prydwen, but Danse knows that Uri is not at all ready to go back. Not yet.

A week passes before he plucks up the courage to speak to her again.

She has just finished reading an old comic book when he enters the cabin. Their hunt was clearly a success, as Danse is carrying an enticingly large slab of radstag steak. It is the first time he has seen her eyes light up since before the synth… So, as she prepares the vegetables and he seasons the steak, he clears his throat.

“Uri, I… I wanted to address something with you. About what you said regarding synths, the other day.”

“If you’re going to lecture me on how I acted you can sleep outside--”

“No! No, no lecturing. It’s more of a curiosity of mine. You mentioned a certain term… and I wanted to ask you about it.”

“A term?” She pauses her peeling to throw a glance his way. “You mean racism?”

“Yes. What is it?”

Uri almost drops the knife, at that. Danse spins as she curses, then relaxes as he sees she is alright - though she looks completely bewildered.

“Are you serious? Did the damn term not make its way through history?” Danse shrugs, and she scoffs, “Of course it didn’t. Alright. So, before the war, elitism was extreme. Like, imagine the snobs in the upper stands of Diamond City - except they had millions of dollars stored away in banks. You with me?” He nods. “Great. So, money wasn’t the only thing that gave people power. There were a whole bunch of labels we used to group people, from gender to class to race. The superior race was considered to be white, because ya’ll colonised the shit out of everything - imagine raiders pillaging settlements. Only other races didn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s… Awful,” Danse grimaces, “Why did they do that?”

“Because of greed. It’s a super long story, but it basically comes down to this - anyone who wasn’t white experienced racism, which _was_ prejudice against people who were not white. I fall into that category. _Now_ , racism has changed. I haven’t experienced any issues over my skin colour since leaving the Vault, but I _have_ witnessed racism against non-humans.”

“But-- but is that not different? It is ridiculous to hold reservations over the colour of a person’s skin, but non-humanoids _are_ dangerous!”

“ _Really_?” Uri growls, dropping her knife to face him. “Danse, all of the bullshit the Brotherhood spout about all ghouls eventually becoming feral or all synths being Institute weapons is _bullshit_ \-- No, don’t try and argue with me on this, because I am yet to see any of the so-called proof your scribes have collected over the years. I have ghoul settlers and synth friends, Paladin. I can tell you honestly - without their kindness, I wouldn’t have survived as long as I did out there. _Fuck_ your outdated rhetoric. Fuck these vegetables, too,” she storms over to the door, “Send someone for me when dinner’s ready. I need to be alone.”

Danse wishes that he knew what to say in Maxson’s defence, but truth be told - he has no leg to stand on. He did not disagree with the synth’s termination, but he does think that there were wiser ways to go about it. Arthur had put Uri under the impression that he would let the synth live. The Paladin does not possess outstanding people skills, but even he had winced at his blatant betrayal.

She had planned to take a group out at sunrise, but Uri cannot wait. Melee is not usually her go-to choice of weaponry, but she had never been terrible with a bat. Whilst in her childhood she was knocking around baseballs, her main objective for the evening is to whack the heads off a pack of ghouls. The trek from Starlight to Gorsky Cabin is short-lived, and she doesn’t even bother with stealth as she marches towards a gathering of them snacking on a wild dog. They screech as they squabble to get to their feet, reaching out with bloodied hands - clawing at her combat armour. These ghouls are the kind she hates least out of them all, as years of a lack of food has made them extremely vulnerable. It is one of the rare occasions when Uri relishes in skulls giving out under her swing. Nothing like watching Danse with the Courser.

When the ferals are nothing more than scattered limbs at her feet, the Knight enters the cabin. There’s one more that awakened at the sound of his brothers’ wails, but she makes quick work of him. The cabin is a small, single-roomed box with nothing more than an old mattress, couch and coffee table pushed against the right wall. Her anger falters as she eyes the hatch in the top right of the room. With her interest piqued, Uri unlatches the doorway and clambers down the small ladder.

It seems to be an unskilled makeshift shelter. The walls are nothing more than packed soil held into some semblance of structure by wooden beams - though they seem to be in the last stages of rotting. She should leave; head back to the drive-in and eat her damned steak. Instead, she pushes onwards. There is another hallway leading further into the poorly built tunnels, so she follows it to a peeling blue door. It’s locked, but no match for her screwdriver and bobby pins. As soon as the door falls open, a horrific shriek pierces her ears, and a final ghoul lunges out to her.

It dies too fast, and then the infestation is dealt with. She has never felt so disappointed. She wants to kill things. She is tired of bottling her emotions, but equally unwilling to put them into words. It is just easier to kill things.

Breaking things will have to do.

She thinks of him as she slams the end of her bat into the terminal to her right. Thinks of his stupid laugh. The time he gave her his coat on the foredeck. The sounds he made in the heat of pleasure. The stupid way the ice in his eyes melted when they were alone. She’s screaming at nothing, and most of the furniture has been completely destroyed. How could she have been so ignorant? So _stupid_. An innocent woman was killed due to her ignorance, and now she has to live with it.

So why does she still _care about him_?

Hours later, Danse finds her lying in the bunker’s bath tub. She is nursing a bottle of whisky. Upon noticing, he raises a disapproving brow.

“Was no wine,” She pouts, “You’re meant to drink wine in the bath, but there wasn’t any.”

“What happened here?” He asks. Everything around them, from shelving to old crates, has been completely ruined.

“Broke it all,” she hiccups, pointing to the space behind him. When he turns, he is met with a splintered, sorry-looking baseball bat.

“You did this with a _bat_?”

“Mhm. Breaking things is therapeutic, Cap. Should try it sometime.”

“You were supposed to come out here with a _group,_ Knight. You put yourself in danger tonight.”

“Don’t pull rank on me,” She snarls.

“It’s not about _rank_! You were foolish. No one knew where you were. You could have _died_.”

“Was meant to do that two-hundred years ago, why’s it matter?”

Danse rolls his eyes, “For God’s sake, Uri. Stop being so melodramatic and come back with me.”

She doesn’t want to, but she goes with him anyway. She is too tired to argue. Who’d have thought demolishing a bunch of furniture would be so exhausting? There’s a radstorm gathering in the distance. Whilst Uri eats her now-cold steak, Danse sets up an IV and places some Rad-X by her can of water.

Uri is still angry at him, but this small gesture warms something in her. She lets him take her arm, and watches him as he pats the largest vein he can find. Danse shares Arthur’s views, but the fact he asked for clarification had taken her by surprise. Maybe he’s not dead-set on being racist. She knows he lost Cutler to the mutants and, in all honesty, she is yet to meet a kind super mutant. But as for ghouls and synths… She may be getting ahead of herself, but maybe her cranky Paladin will see the light soon.

When he’s done, she raises a hand to stroke through his matted hair. The Paladin raises a brow, but his hardened features falter at the withered look she’s wearing. He wishes that he could say something to help. He may not agree with Uri, but he can see that she is hurting and that pushes an unwelcome lump into his throat. At a loss for words, he gives her hand a reassuring pat and stands.

“We’ll clear out those mole rats to the east in the morning. Wait for me, this time.”

“Yes, sir,” she mumbles before returning to her food. Danse methodically boards up all the doors and windows, and then they wait out the storm. The blasted thing interferes with their radio signal, but Uri never makes a move to turn it off. When _The End of the World_ begins to play, she ignores the static break-up and turns it up. She does not possess the best of voices, but Danse don’t not oppose when the Knight begins to sing along.

-

“Mole rat stew for dinner!” Uri jeers, tossing one of the creatures onto the butcher’s slab. She is met with an applause, and Danse rolls his eyes at her exaggerated bows.

“Excellent mission, Knight. An outstanding success.”

“Carry on being sarcastic with me, Cap. See where it gets you.”

It’s the first time in a while that he’s seen that humorous glint in her eyes. The Paladin had not realised how much he had missed her wit until now, but he sends thanks to whatever God is listening for bringing it back.

After a quick, icy shower, Uri sits herself down at the kitchen-turned-bar for a good old cup of long-expired coffee. Most of the settlers are hard at work, whether it’s manning the fields or reinforcing the barricades. Trevor’s nervous voice squeaks out from a nearby radio, and the guy beside her mumbles in disdain before turning the volume down.

Uri hasn’t really spoken to many of the settlers at Starlight. At first, they had been excited to see the General - but something about her haunted look has pushed them into keeping their distance. The man sat beside her looks to be in his forties. He’s got jet-black hair that rings of Elvis, though his combat gear proves that he is in no way attempting to mimic the King. The strangest thing about him is is shades. It’s a very dull morning; they must be obstructing his vision.

“Want to take a picture, sweetheart? Might last longer.”

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, “Just… what’s with the shades?”

“Haven’t you heard? They’re all the rage these days. Highest wasteland fashion.”

Uri chokes on her coffee, more out of surprise at someone who isn't her cracking a joke more than the joke itself.

“Whoa, cool it,” He pats her on the back, “I don’t wanna be strung up for accidentally killing the General.”

“Please,” she holds out her hand, “Call me Uri.”

“Stanley,” He says, offering a hand of his own. “A pleasure.”

“How long’ve you been staying here?”

“Ah, a couple of months now. My old place was swarmed by gen-twos. I was lucky to make it out.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she grimaces, “Well, I hope this place is working out for you.”

“It’s perfect for me. I’m far from choosy… What about you, anyway? I’ve heard great things, but I don’t know how much of it’s true.”

“My story’s kinda dull,” Uri waves a hand, “what've you been hearing?”

“That you’re over two-hundred years old, and you killed a deathclaw on your first day out in the wastes.”

“Damnit, Piper. Yeah, that part is true. I got lucky with the deathclaw. If it wasn’t for an old suit of power armour and a vertibird minigun, I’d’ve been lizard chow.”

“I also heard that you’re with that Paladin guy. Part of the Brotherhood?”

“I… uh, yeah. But, if it’s all the same, I’d rather not talk about that.”

“Huh. Alright then. Can I ask - if it’s a touchy subject, why'd you join in the first place?”

The last thing she wants to do is tell a stranger about Shaun, no matter how witty he might be.

“Easy. I wanted to fuck the Elder.”

It’s Stanley’s turn to choke on his drink, and Uri falls into a fit of giggles.

“That work out for ya?”

“It sure did,” she winks, and he raises his mug in toast.

“You’re a joker, Uri. I like that. Keep that sense of humour on ya. The wasteland is a killjoy. We gotta find _something_ to laugh about.”

Uri doesn’t bother to assure Stanley that fucking the Elder wasn’t a joke. Considering the impact any thought of Arthur Maxson has on her right now, she almost wishes she had been joking. _Almost_. And she hates it. She should regret it. Hell, she should be kicking herself for it, yet she doesn’t have the energy. She’s angry and hurt, but she gives a shit. _She cares_.

Plus, it felt _good_.

“I’ll try my best, Stan. I can promise you that.”

“Excellent,” He grins. “Anyway, I’m gonna get back to work. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Of course!” She smiles, “It was nice meeting you.”

It is the first time since their arrival that Uri has been able to really look around, so she begins exploring. She is amazed at the settlement walls, which have been built using any and all nearby buses. There are two watchtowers on the west and eastern side of the dilapidated screen, in which a guard a piece sits with sirens and rifles at the ready. Settlers on their break are sat smoking, whilst others are huddled around a couple of copies of _Publick Occurences_. With the clang of farmers tools and array of chatter, Uri can barely hear the whir of the water purifier sat in the centre of the drive-in. There’s a young boy filling a bucket of the clean, drinking water. When he’s done, the man beside him ruffles his hair and carries it over to a woman waiting by a shack door. From the look of her, she is heavily pregnant. Her tired eyes dance with adoration as she cups her swollen belly.

“There you are.”

Uri turns, and smiles as she notices Danse striding towards her. He has cleaned the molerat gunk off himself, but his uniform has had to be left with the folk in charge of laundry. He is wearing some old army fatigues and an off-white t-shirt.

“You look better like this,” She sighs.

“I-- Knight, I have to wear my uniform at all times. How I look is irrelevant.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she rolls her eyes, “Want me for anything specifically, or do ya just need to make sure I’m under your thumb?"

“I found this in your cabin,” he holds up a faded holotape, “It has your name on it.”

Uri takes the tape and eyes it curiously. She doesn’t recognise it, nor the handwriting scrawled across it. But it definitely says Uri, so _someone_ has clearly left it for her. She throws a curious glance Danse’s way as she pops it into her Pip-Boy. An authoritative, female voice barks from the speakers.

“ _Wake up, Commonwealth. Synths are not your enemy. They are victims in this war as well. True, they were created by the Institute - but they were created as slaves! Thinking, feeling and dreaming beings - utterly oppressed by their tyrannical masters! So join with us when fighting the real enemy: the institute. Join the Railroad. When you’re ready for that next step, don’t worry. We’ll find you._ ”

The telltale click of the holotapes end does nothing to pull Uri and Danse from their surprised trance. She remembers the railroad agents-turned-soldiers from the battle in Bunker Hill. The exact point at which her path crossed with Arthur’s. She hadn’t known much about what they were fighting over… She really should have asked.

“So, it looks like the Brotherhood aren’t the only faction who wanna recruit me,” Uri scoffs. “Who’s next? Are the damn Enclave gonna reveal their last survivors? Ask me to take over?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Danse sighs. “But this is troubling. If a railroad agent left this for you, that means we’re being watched.

“That it does… hmm… Well, I guess there’s only one thing left to do.”

“There is?”

“Yep. Suit up, Cap. We’re going to Goodneighbour.”


	12. Too Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than usual, but I hope you enjoy! I didn't want to keep you all waiting too long.

Arthur has a strike of luck; arriving on the Prydwen at an ungodly hour means that he can avoid instant questioning. As he makes his way to his quarters, the Elder prays that the mattress will swallow him whole. He is not an anxious man, but the thought of debriefing his highest ranking subordinates has him sick to his stomach. Never has he managed to sabotage a mission the way he did. Before Uri, killing a synth would have been considered a success. Now, two of his most trusted field operatives are gone - and they took the damn Courser chip with them.

How embarrassing. 

Morning arrives far too soon for his liking. The sunrise has introduced a strange, radioactive looking fog that is unusual for the wastes, even by the Commonwealth’s standards. It is a minor blessing in disguise, for he notices a vast amount of Scribes documenting the new phenomenon. Arthur hopes that means his officers will be sufficiently distracted. Sadly, his bubble is quick to burst. He is cornered by at least three-quarters of his officers in the first ten minutes of leaving his room. At least it gives him the opportunity to arrange the debrief himself. Maybe doing so in-person will help them look upon the situation more favourably.

“Greetings, brothers and sisters,” Arthur says, once he is standing at the head of the conference table. “Please sit. We have much to discuss.”

“That we do,” Kells raises a brow, “first thing’s first - where is Paladin Danse and Knight Sanchez?”

“In due time, Lancer-Captain. I will explain everything.”

He has no choice. He has to lie. Arthur explains what he can without stripping himself of all dignity. He tells the group about the signal; how they had bumped into Gunners and made quick work of the Courser. The majority seem to be too enthralled with his story to question it. Naturally, Proctor Ingram does not fall into that category.

“So, let me get this straight. You managed to kill the Courser and get the chip?” He nods, “great. So upon retrieving the chip - instead of returning to our headquarters with it, you decided to send Danse and Sanchez off on some great expedition to decode it. Without _checking in_ with us _first_?”

“If you had seen the chip, Proctor, you would have agreed that it was the best course of action. We have never dealt with technology like this--”

“And civilians _have_?”

“Proctor!” Quinlan yelps, “May I remind you who you are _speaking to_?”

“Oh put a sock in it,” Ingram snaps, her tone razor-sharp. Those yellow-green eyes are unyielding as they settle back on Arthur. “At the end of the day, _you_ are the one who ordered us to come here. Ever since, we have been on a wild goose chase looking for some crazed boogeymen. I am at wits end, Maxson. You have me overseeing two _major_ projects, yet continue to nitpick what information you’re sharing. It’s getting old _fast_. I want that chip, Goddamnit. Where did they go?”

“Your insubordinate attitude is getting _immensely_ tiring, Proctor. You may have known me from being a boy, but that does _not_ give you any sort of authority over your _commander_.” Arthur turns wild eyes to the officers around them, “Dismissed, soldiers. I would like to speak to Ingram _alone_.”

Her expression is unreadable as the others make a hasty exit. Arthur hangs behind them. After exchanging a frustrated look with Kells, he finally slams the door closed. _Now_ she lets her emotions show, and never has she looked so furious. That is, until he lets the stoic mask of authority fall from his features.

The woman’s scathing demeanour immediately softens.

“Arthur, _please_ \- tell me what really happened.”

He falls into his chair, exhaling heavily. He didn’t sleep well and, truth be told, he was worried about Uri. He still is, and he already knows it’s going to have a horrendous impact on his work.

“I misjudged a situation we ended up landing ourselves in. Upon killing the Courser, Sanchez freed a synth captive. I killed the synth, and the Knight reacted negatively.”

“So, they’re _gone_?" 

“Not forever,” he shakes his head, “Paladin Danse would not disappear on us. I ordered him to stay with Sanchez whilst she dealt with her emotions. She can be quite volatile. I felt it would be best for everyone if she had some space.”

When she doesn’t reply, Arthur looks up. She is stood slightly closer now, and she has that damn look in her eye that makes his skin crawl. Like she is seeing right through him. It isn’t the first time she has studied him this way, but something about this time has him wanting to bolt out the room.

“You love her.”

“What?” His brows shoot up. “I-- of course I don’t. Don’t be ridiculous. Wherever did you get such an idea--?”

“Oh, stop. Everyone knows. You’ve always been an incredible actor, Arthur. But you’ve never had to hide something like _this._ It’s nothing to be ashamed of. She saved you, and days out there can feel like weeks. Sure, she’s a little rough around the edges, but I think that's exactly what you need.”

“ _Stop_. I _don’t_. I misjudged the situation and made a tactical decision based off of past experience. That is why I let them leave without asking for the chip. Nothing more.”

“Uh-huh,” she folds her armour-clad arms, “what about the foredeck, then? You two looked _very_ cosy, the other night.”

“What?”

He wants to throw his fist into something. _Anything_. He can feel his face burn with a mix of anger and humiliation. Ingram scoffs.

“Quinlan saw you two. That’s why he’s acting like something crawled up his ass whenever she’s around.”

“And he deemed it necessary to _tell my soldiers_?” Arthur fumes, “I’ll have him scrubbing the toilets for a week, the no good, gossip-spreading--”

“ _Easy_ there, Elder. He didn’t tell anyone else. He was concerned is all, and he thought you may have confided in me about it.”

“Why would he think _that_?”

“Because, with all due respect, he doesn’t know how stupid you are.”

“At this rate, you will be scrubbing those stalls _with him_.”

“You lock yourself in that damn office and drink until you’re numb. You’ve done it ever since Sarah died, Arthur. I know how it affected you, whether you talk about it or not. Just… Remember I lost her too, yeah? I _loved_ her, damnit. But I picked myself up. That’s something _you_ are yet to do, and I think Sanchez is a nudge in the right direction. You need to stop pushing people away. Honestly, almost every person who you just sent out this room cares a hell of alot about you. Not just as a Maxson, but as _Arthur_. You just… You don’t let yourself see that. That’s why you’ve landed yourself in shit with Sanchez, and now it’s going to delay our mission. I’ll let your lie sit with the others, but you can’t lie to me. Don’t try it again, or I swear to God I’ll toss you off this damn blimp quicker than you can say steel. Maxson descendant or not.”

She leaves without being dismissed, but Arthur is far too shell-shocked to care. The conference room is silent aside from the hum of the scribes’ floodlights. He should head back to the Prydwen. He has so much work to do… but he cannot bring himself to leave just yet. There is no mirror in the room, but the Elder can imagine that his current expression is far from befitting to his title.

Sarah. Why did she have to bring up _Sarah_? Why did she have to play counsellor? Is this not why he chose Cade over Rogers? To avoid a nagging carer gluing himself to his shoulder? Ingram has always understood why he is the way he is, and he liked that she never addressed it openly. He didn’t _want_ to put his behaviour into legible words, because then he would have to deal with it. He doesn’t want to deal with it. He wants to focus all his time and attention on his duties as Elder. Work so hard that he can barely stand by the time he stumbles back to his quarters, then repeat that until his time finally comes to an end.

It would have been easy to keep going on that way if Uri hadn’t come along.

He tries regardless, much to Ingram’s dismay. She covers for him by stating that Danse has the decoding under control… though he has had to agree to let her go into the field when they take on the Institute. He’s not thrilled by the idea, but he cannot deny that they may need her fighting in the end. It keeps her off his back, in any case. That, and the fact that there is so much to do. Between rebuilding Prime and dissecting the scientist-turned-mutant’s borderline unintelligible schematics - as well as managing an entire Brotherhood chapter - Arthur is exhausted to the point of passing out from then on. Uri is still floating around the forefront of his mind, but he is relieved to have such a high level of distractions whilst she remains awol. He just hopes that they will take the initiative to decode the Courser chip alone. He has no idea how, but if he knows anything about Uri - it’s that she always finds a way.

_Monster._

That’s what she had called him as the synth lay dying at his feet. He had almost believed her, too. The intensity of her disgusted gaze continues to weigh on his mind through the weeks to come. Arthur has not dreamt in a long time, but he dreams now. It’s always the same. The synth chokes on a gargled scream as blood sprays from her throat, and Uri is there. _Monster_. Machines are not supposed to bleed. He begins to doubt its race. _Monster_. Uri is screaming at him, and he begins to crack in the synth’s skull. He needs to find the component. Something-- _anything_ to prove that it is not human.

He never does.

 _Monster_.

“Elder Maxson, Sir. What a pleasant surprise.”

This is the first time that Arthur has ventured into the dregs of the Prydwen. He has been CC’ed into many complaints regarding Senior Scribe Neriah’s work but, much to Quinlan’s annoyance, he never partook in the Proctor’s woeful attempt to get her to abandon her mole rats.

It doesn’t reek half as bad as others had made out, which leads him to believe she has fixed the vents on the lower decks. It is horribly dark, though, as their only source of light consists of dimly-lit bulbs. Despite their working environment, the scribes under her command seem to be in high spirits. He spots Scribe Friar saluting beside her brothers and sisters. When she meets his eyes he offers her a quick nod, and almost chuckles at the squeak that leaves her throat. The Scribe beside her hangs his head to hide laughter of his own. 

“Please, scribes,” he addresses the younglings, “Do not let my presence distract you. Senior Scribe, do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” She nods, looking rather anxious. “You heard the Elder, Scribes. Back to work.”

As the soldiers continue their experiments, Arthur leads Neriah to one side. It seems that she cannot help chewing her lip when she is nervous, which makes him think of Quinlan's reports. She thinks she’s in trouble.

“Please, Neriah. You’re not in any trouble.” His smile is thin, but she immediately relaxes. A smiling Elder is a rarity. “I am here to discuss your findings on synths.”

“Oh, I see!” Neriah lets out a sigh of relief. “Apologies, Sir. Proctor Quinlan…” she shakes her head, remembering herself. “Is there anything in specific you are searching for?”

“I am curious about the, dare I say it, _physiology_ of third-generation synths. Do you have any in your possession?”

“Not in my possession, no. We did have one, but the… well, it started to decompose. I can have the report sent over, if you’d like?”

“That would be appreciated,” he nods, ignoring his sudden nausea. “How is your research going regarding the mole rats? Any leads?”

“Progress is slow but steady,” She says. Her pride is infectious. “I truly believe we are getting somewhere, Sir. Of course, we would be able to move along faster if Knight Rhys would send me a brahmin, but I will take what I can get.”

“That _would_ be an interesting addition to your floating zoo,” He notes wryly, unable to help himself. Arthur almost jumps at the laughter that escapes her. Did he just make a joke? Did he just make a joke to a Scribe he barely knows? And did she find it _funny_?

“I’ll have to talk him into getting one on a vertibird first. Was there anything else you needed, Sir?”

“No, that was all. Thank you for your time.”

She salutes and he returns the gesture before heading off to the mess hall. There is a cup of coffee with his name on it, and Lord knows he’s going to need a little caffeine to get through the day. That nightmare has set him on edge far more than he would care to admit.

And he is beginning to miss Uri terribly. 

Her compassion is both admirable yet infuriating, and he doesn’t have the faintest idea what to do about it. It’s not like he can apologise for what he did. They both know that it would be a lie. He doesn’t regret killing the synth, no matter how much its death mimicked the loss of a human life. The Institute are messing with prospects far too dangerous for anyone to consider. Of everyone in his ranks, he thought Uri would understand that.

Then again, it is unfair to expect her to bend so quickly to the Brotherhood’s morals. She has lived an entirely different life to the rest of his crew. One of warm, summer days spent lounging in grassy parks. Snacking on in-date Dandy Apples and babysitting little Shaun in her picture-perfect cul de sac. Watching movies, socialising with friends. Nuclear war had been a distant potential for her. Everyone she has met since leaving the vault has had to face the aftermath of her generation’s wrongdoings. But she cannot be blamed for the past’s mistakes. She is a bystander-turned-wastelander. Even so, they need to find some sort of halfway point. He prays Uri will not stay mad at him forever. Perhaps her time away will help her see reason?

Arthur doubts it; but he can hope.

Saddened eyes gaze down at the Commonwealth from the Command deck, and Arthur wonders where she could be. Their disappearance is quickly becoming a thorn in his side, after five weeks pass without word of their whereabouts. The young Elder refuses to consider any extremes. Danse is an exceptional soldier, and Uri has always been capable when one considers her past.

A knock disrupts his brooding. When the Elder turns, Scribe Friar is stood in the doorway; her small hands clutch a battered file, and her eyes bulge as though she is fighting the urge to look at anything but him.

“Elder Maxson, Sir. I am here to bring you the report you discussed with Senior Scribe Neriah.”

“Excellent. Please, bring it over.”

Always the good little soldier, Friar does as he commands, hand outstretched with the documents. He thanks her and immediately begins to flick through… images of a lifeless, very much human body immediately jump out from the pages, and the nausea from his nightmare returns with a vengeance. He sets the file down as soon as he can without raising the Scribe’s suspicion, willing himself to _not_ vomit in the presence of any soldiers. “Please, pass Neriah my thanks.”

“Of course, Elder.”

“Dismissed." 

Arthur salutes the Scribe and, though she returns the motion, she remains frozen in place. The Elder can see the conflict in her eyes, and he cannot bring it in himself to be frustrated by her borderline disobedience. Conflicted but sympathetic, he pauses.

“Is something the matter?”

“I… I’m sorry, Sir. But I wanted to ask if you had any information on Knight Sanchez. I understand I have no right to ask, but I am starting to worry. No one else will tell me anything.”

If it were anyone else she was asking about, he would have them on dishwasher duty for a month. To be so brazen - regarding the Elder, no less - is not for the feint of heart. But something about her ridiculous bravery reminds him of the playful edge to Uri’s being, and so he nods.

“Truth be told, we have not heard from Knight Sanchez or Paladin Danse. They were tasked with another mission after we completed the task I accompanied them on, but they are yet to send word… As soon as we know something, I will make sure that you are informed.”

“Oh! Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much.”

As Alice stumbles away, Arthur tells himself that Uri is perfectly safe. Anytime now, and she will be back with the chip decoded, waving it around in that cocky way that will piss off every crew member she passes.

Whether he believes it or not does not matter, so long as it keeps his hope in check. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting into the habit of naming chapters after songs that inspired me the most. This chapter's song is Too Bad - Danny Padilla, if anyone's interested. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOv2lK7Ealc


	13. The Freedom Trail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I gift you with a longer chapter than usual :) I reeeeally enjoyed writing this one!

Stepping back into Goodneighbor should _not_ feel like a warm hug after a long day at work, but something about this misfit town just works for Uri Sanchez. It's wild and unpredictable, but fiercely loyal and a shit-ton of fun. Her kind of crazy. From the frown tugging at her Paladin’s brow, she can see that he does not share her love for the patchwork town.

“I visited Goodneighbor once,” He explains. “Lost one of my soldiers here… I never thought I’d return.”

“We won’t stay long,” She lies. Uri has every intention of grabbing a drink in the Third Rail before they head off. Hell, she may even rent a room for them. A night of partying sounds _perfect_ right about now. The vault dweller is still smiling at the concept when they step into the old burlesque theatre. It is just as dim and dusty as the last time Uri was here though, this time, a couple of clients are tucked into those strange memory pods. The Paladin suddenly stiffens. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Danse?”

His dark eyes are locked onto the nearest pod, and he’s _glowering_. Their arrival garners the attention of Irma. The blonde bombshell seems to drink the Paladin’s figure in, but the approval falls from her gaze as she notices the sour look he's wearing.

“Hello again, sweetheart,” Her eyes momentarily flash to Uri. “Are you here for my wife?”

“That I am. Is she downstairs?”

“Of course,” Irma rolls her eyes, “Where else would she be? Please, head on down. Atom _knows_ she could do with a break.”

Uri is relieved that Irma missed the Brotherhood sigil on her uniform, but knows that she will not be so lucky with Amari. The duo head down a narrow stairway to the basement, where the doctor has her sloped nose pressed against a terminal screen; lost in concentration so deep she doesn’t notice when they walk in.

“Knock, knock!” Amari jumps. When the woman turns on her heels, her yellowed eyes are wide in fright.

“My!” She clutches at her chest. “Miss Sanchez. You took me by surprise…” After coming down from her shock, Amari seems to register the unfamiliar man casting a shadow in her workshop’s doorway. She visibly tenses. “Who is this?”

“Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel,” Danse answers before Uri can open her mouth.

“ _Brotherhood_?” She hisses. The faction sounds like poison, dripping from her tongue. “Sanchez, what are you doing with the Brotherhood on my doorstep?”

“It’s a quick call,” Uri says, holding her palms up in a silent apology, “I had to ask you something, if you have a minute?”

“Make it quick.”

Uri senses that bringing Danse inside Goodneighbor was a mistake, so she complies.

“I’m looking for the Railroad. Long story short, we may have a way into the Institute - but we’re gonna need a Courser chip decoding. Unless you have the means, we’re thinking the guerrillas may be our best bet.”

“You have a Courser chip?” It’s the first time, despite everything, that she has seen the woman’s jaw drop. “Wait, that means-- you fought a Courser? Oh my _God_.”

“What do you mean?” Uri folds her arms, “you _told me to_.”

“I suggested-- but never in a million years did I believe…” Amari is slow to pick up on Uri’s growing anger but, when she does, she stops in her tracks. “Unfortunately, I can’t help you.” She eyes Danse for a moment, contemplating her words, and then turns back to the Knight. “Synths are one thing, but Coursers are alien territory to me. I don’t have the slightest idea what that chip _does_ , never mind how to decode it.”

“Damnit Doc. Why tell me to hunt one down if you don’t even know what they _do_?”

“For the exact reason that you came knocking on my door in the first place. There is only one group I know of who has a chance at cracking into Institute security, and that group is _not_ your Brotherhood.”

“Are you referring to the Railroad?” Danse cuts in; his tone sharp and impatient.

“I don’t know who they are, but I have had dealings with their agents in the past. One of them gave me a code phrase if there was ever an emergency. 'Follow the freedom trail.’”

“The what?”

But Uri is not listening to Danse, nor Amari as she repeats the phrase. For she is instantly transported back to a time full of bustling streets and wide-eyed curiosity. That strange automaton that she had huddled around with her classmates, eagerly listening as it told them about the history of where they were stood.

“I know what that is!” She yelps abruptly, causing Amari to jump once more. “I went there once. It was a field trip for middle school!”

“Do you remember the path?” 

“I… Think so. It begins by Swan Lake. I can’t remember every landmark, but it definitely finishes at the Old North Church-- that must be it! _That_ must be where they are!”

“Outstanding!” Danse’s pat on her shoulder has Uri swelling with pride.

“Thank God I liked field trips.”

“I would advise you to look into the old church, then,” Amari nods, “if you come across any agents, _please_ refrain from telling them that I was the one who helped you find them. Also, you _may_ want to change your clothes. I highly doubt they will take too kindly to two Brotherhood soldiers.”

After thanking the doctor, Uri and Danse re-enter the foggy Commonwealth afternoon. The air reeks so strongly of fresh blood and urine that the Paladin gags, and it doesn’t take long until they find out why. Before them stand two members of the neighbourhood watch, towering over a crumpled heap of limbs. Blood pours from the bullet wound in their neck, but his killers do not look pleased.

“Think they can replace people with synths? In _this_ town?” The ghoul fumes, angry spittle spraying from his gnarled lips. The human accompanying him curses, which elicits a rasped sigh from his companion. “Man, what am I gonna tell his mother…?”

Uri tugs Danse away with haste, her chest tightening too much to bear anymore. But Danse isn’t finished. He shucks the knight’s hand from his arm and steps over to them.

“But how did you _know_?” he chokes, eyes hollow as he gazes down at the body staining the cracked road. “How did you know he was a synth?”

“Danse!” Uri hisses, feeling her stomach twist as the human male glares at him.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your damn _business_ , tin-can.”

“Danse, c’mon. We need to _go_.”

The Paladin is still shaking as she leads them away. The last thing Uri wants is for Danse to inadvertently cause a fight, but she steals curious glances at him as they round the corner of the Old State House. She has never seen him respond to a killing like that before, much less that of a suspected synth. He seems to detect her thought process, for he brings them to a stop by Bobby No-Nose’s alleyway.

“What was different for you?”

“Huh?”

“Back there,” He gestures to the way they came. “They just killed a synth, and you didn’t bat an eye. Yet, when the Elder did so, you abandoned your position in the Brotherhood and ran off with the chip. I want to know what was different about this killing to the last.”

“You have a way with words,” Uri mutters. She has half a mind to leave him here, but part of her knows that Danse is terribly uncharismatic. He hadn’t meant to offend her. “What was different is that, if he _was_ a synth, he was placed here purposefully to infiltrate the lives of innocent people. Synths who are knowingly taking a kidnapped human’s place _are_ weapons. But synths like Jenny, who’re just trying to escape slavery… They are victims. Those guys killed a spy. Arthur killed an innocent.”

“I’m still confused,” He admits.

“Damnit, Danse. Synths are _people_. There are good people, and then there are bad people. The synth back there was bad, Jenny was… Well, she was innocent. She wasn’t trying to hurt us, and I’d consider her good. Make sense?”

“I suppose so.”

Danse is still lost to his thoughts as Uri leads them to a mildly familiar store by the town’s entrance. The Paladin recognises this ghoul from passing, but it’s clear from the way she tsks at his companion that they have some kind of friendship.

“Everytime I see you, you’ve got a different man with ya. What, you get sick of the last one?”

“Hi, Daisy,” Uri rolls her eyes, though she’s grinning. “Long story, but not what we’re here for. We need to look less Brotherhood. Think you can help us out?”

“Can’t believe you waltzed in here wearing all that,” she grumbles, already searching through her stock. “You’re in luck, Sanchez. I just got a crate of old army fatigues. Ballistic weave and all.”

Uri has never felt less attractive than she does wearing the male-fitted fatigues, but they will have to do. The Knight pouts at herself in a chipped mirror, and Danse’s reflection comes into view. He is completely unsympathetic.

“With all due respect, Knight, you _really_ need to get over the pre-war hangups you have on beauty standards. Two-hundred years have passed. No one cares about how you look, so you shouldn’t either.”

“Ah, Paladin. My looks are my greatest weapon.”

“Nah, sunshine. A woman’s greatest weapon will _always_ be her ass or her boobs. Or maybe a minigun.”

“Hancock,” is Uri’s only response. The ghoul is leaning against the storefront with a shit-eating grin on his face and a half-smoked cigarette in hand. Danse visibly tenses. He has heard of this one before.

“Long time no see. How’s my favourite antique--” He catches Daisy’s grimace and coughs, “second favourite antique?”

“She’s become a teenage boy,” Uri pouts, ignoring the laughter she gains in response. “How’re you, mister mayor?”

“Alright. Been better. I… we need to chat. Smoke?"

Uri accepts where Danse declines, but he watches in longing as she steals a light from the ghoul.

“What’s up?” Uri asks before placing the cigarette between her teeth. The smoke dragging down her throat feels delightful after going so long without.

“You and your new pals,” Hancock says. As straight to the point as always. “Listen, Sanchez. You’re a hell of a gal. I trust you. But you can’t keep bringing the Brotherhood to my town. You feel me?”

Uri should not be as surprised by this as she feels. Goodneighbor is packed with ghouls, after all, and the Brotherhood don’t exactly keep quiet about their hatred for them. She should have seen this coming. It still feels unfair.

“What’re you talking about? Danse is the first soldier I--” but she trails off, because Hancock is shaking his head; clearly disappointed by her response.

“C’mon, now. I thought more of you than that. Fahrenheit saw you with that Elder guy. We may be a bunch of outcasts, but we’re not idiots.”

Uri’s chest aches as he drops his bud to the floor. When Hancock meets her eyes again, there’s a hardness there she never imagined she would be on the receiving end of. Their conversation was a test; a test she’s failed.

“As long as you’re wasting your days with those tin-cans, you’re not welcome in Goodneighbor.” Hancock turns to Danse, and snarls: “tell _that_ to your precious king.”

It’s short, bitter and to-the-point, and Uri can only thank her lucky stars that Danse didn’t pull the trigger on Hancock there and then. The Paladin’s eyes are wild with hate, and Uri knows she is the reason he didn’t hurt him. Despite Hancock’s threatening tone, Uri is grateful.

“The fatigues are on the house,” Daisy murmurs. Uri blinks in surprise, then watches as the ghoul raises a pocked hand to her cheek. The contrast of smooth skin against exposed muscle is more shocking than the vault dweller had imagined it would be, but Daisy’s touch is like that of a mother’s. Uri’s umber eyes meet solid black, and she wonders how such a dark colour radiates warmth. “Stay safe, hon. Don’t let nobody take that fiery personality of yours away. You shine damn bright in comparison to this hellhole we’re livin’ in. Stay strong. Stay _you_.”

Uri knows Daisy is warning her about the Brotherhood’s military-style expectations. She couldn’t know that her words are exactly what Uri needed to hear, considering her current head-state. She nods, not trusting the lump in her throat to keep her words steady. When she is able to focus on her surroundings again they are hidden in an alleyway, and Danse is fiddling with the map on her Pip-Boy.

“We don’t need the map. I know where it is.”

“You were a million miles away,” He mumbles, but releases her arm. “Alright then, Knight. Lead the way.”

As they begin to walk, Uri’s temper rises. She can’t believe her luck. First, the man she’s falling head-over-heels for kills an innocent woman right in front of her, so she flees. Then, she’s kicked out of Goodneighbor for associating with the faction as a whole - _despite the fact that she was there because their racism had pissed her off_. For a while, she fumes silently. It’s not until they hit the halfway mark that she’s finally ready to burst. “I can’t believe he kicked me out. _Me_. I mean, I can. But I’m still mad, damnit! I’d never hurt anyone there. Hell, even you managed to keep your temper in check. Arthur never hurt anyone, either. I don’t _get it_.”

“I’m still surprised that Maxson actually agreed to step foot in that place,” Danse chuckles despite himself. “How on Earth did you manage that?”

“It was before we got to the Prydwen, obviously. We’d known each other just over a day… God, it feels like forever ago.” She shakes the thought away. “I pissed him off the second we stepped through the gates. Compared his damn racism to something you’d find in the upper stands of Diamond City. Then, I accidentally revealed my ‘tragic backstory’ whilst chatting to a ghoul who, funnily enough, was the Vault-Tec rep who signed me up for one-eleven. It was a bad night.”

“Knowing Arthur, I’m surprised he didn’t refuse you entry to the Brotherhood…” Danse pauses to stroke at his stubble. “I don’t suppose his leniency towards your methods will sway your current view of him, though… and, I have to say, I understand.”

Uri stops in her tracks. When Danse looks back to see she has frozen in place, she’s staring at him as though he’s just sprouted a second head.

“Did Paladin Danse just say something _negative_ about his almighty Elder?”

“I am trying to be kind, here,” He grumbles, then sighs. “Look, whether I agree with how Maxson handled the synth or not, I can see why it upset you. He had led you to believe he would let her go. That takes trust, and he broke that. Your anger was justified… and I believe he knows that.”

“Don’t bank on that one,” she thinks back to the look of hatred in his eyes, and shivers. “It was horrible, Danse. I knew, obviously, but… but to see him do _that_...” She cuts off, and the Paladin knows not to push the issue further. It doesn’t matter in any case, as the vault dweller’s eyes lose that glimpse of sadness as she eyes the building up ahead. “That’s it! Whoa, who knew a church would survive the apocalypse? This place was old before, never mind now.”

“Keep your voice down,” Danse hisses, picking up sounds of movement from inside. Whilst the outside has managed to stay standing, the same cannot be said for the inside. The pews are in a complete state of disrepair; crumbled into splintered pieces from the weight of the upper floor, which has collapsed in on itself over the years. There is no working electricity, but a mix of the fog-covered sunlight and glow from spots of irradiated fungus gives them just enough light to see where they’re headed.

“I don’t like this place,” her voice is barely audible, but Danse _just_ manages to pick it up. He is about to agree with her, but the familiar sound of feral grunts has him jumping into action.

It’s much closer than Uri had anticipated. She yelps in surprise and snaps the safety off. The creature snaps its jaw together whilst grabbing for her ankles - that’s when she notices it has no legs. With a sigh of relief, she plants a shot from Buster clean through its head, and almost gags at the mixed stench of ozone and ghoul brains. She’ll need a Rad-X later.

“There are more of them!” Danse yells and, as Uri rounds the corner, she sees why his stealth has gone to shit. He’s battling four of them at once - bludgeoning one with the butt of his laser rifle whilst another two beat at his back. The third is on his chest, clawing at his combat armour in search of a weak spot. Uri prays to whatever God is listening that she shoots straight - and then quickly remembers she’s wearing a Goddamn _Pip-Boy_. By the time she’s setting up VATs she’s nearly hysterical, but the targeting system makes quick work of the bastards. When the last ghoul has toppled to the ground, Danse falls back against the nearest wall.

“Thank you,” He pants, and Uri cannot help but feel guilty. It’s her fault that he’s not wearing his power armour. Her fault that he’s here, watching over her when he should be doing his job. But no, instead he’s letting her throw her bitch-fit over Arthur. Before she can stop herself, she’s throwing herself into the Paladin’s arms.

“I’m so sorry, Danse. So, so sorry. I promise, when we’re done here, we can go straight back to the Prydwen. I’ve been stupid and selfish. I need to get over myself. You could have been killed.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” He assures her, awkwardly patting at her back. “I just miss my power armour, is all. But I am an experienced soldier, and faced many a battle back in the Capital Wasteland with nothing more than this… C’mon, let’s get moving. The sooner we find these idealists, the sooner we can get that chip looked at.”

Noticing a painted lantern similar to that by the church’s door, the duo decide to make their way down an internal staircase into what looks to be an old tomb. Danse has been used to passing grave sites all his life, but Uri has to wrap her arms around herself and force herself to stare ahead as he guides them through the narrow tunnels. There are two more ghouls messing the place up, but they are much easier to pick off one-by-one. Finally, they reach a point at which the tunnels have completely fallen in on themselves, bar one doorway with a freedom trail sigil hooked up to haphazard wiring on the wall.

“This looks legit,” She murmurs, reaching up to stroke the letters. The years have been kind to this part of the building, at least, as this particular piece moves under her touch. “Shit, it moves! I think it’s a key code.”

“Hmm…” Danse nods, taking each letter in. Whilst Uri runs over what it could be, the Paladin lets out a sudden scoff so loud it reverberates off the walls. “Are you _kidding me_? Spell out Railroad, Knight. I _swear_ , if I’m right about this…”

Uri does as he commands and, with the last letter in place, the mechanism begins to click and churn.

Amber eyes meet brown, and that is how the Railroad agents meet Paladin Danse and Knight Sanchez. Laughing so hard that neither one of them can breathe. If the woman with the minigun, man in the paperboy hat and woman in the centre are surprised by their arrival, they do not show it. Uri paws at the wall beside her in an attempt to remain upright, whilst Danse chokes on air as he fights to regain his breath.

“Stop!” The woman, who looks to be the leader, barks. Uri’s still shaking with silent laughter, but she’s managed to get herself into a decent standing position.

“I - I’m so sorry,” She heaves, “Jeez, I haven’t laughed that much in _forever_. Y’alright there, Paladin?”

“Affirmative,” He chortles whilst wiping a tear from his eye.

The unfamiliar agents before them do _not_ share their humour.

“You went through a lot of effort to arrange this meeting. But, before we go any further, answer my questions. Who the _hell_ are you?”

The one who Uri assumes to be the leader has a domineering stance. Her red hair is cut short to her shoulders. Somehow, the cut seems to make her piercing eyes stand out more than they already do - narrow, yet wide compared to her small face.

“I’m General Sanchez of the Minutemen, and this is Colonel Danse,” She lies. “We followed the freedom trail looking for the Railroad. We’re not your enemy.”

“ _If_ that’s true you have nothing to fear,” the red-head’s smile is sweet, but it reminds Uri of wine laced with cyanide. “Who told you how to contact us?”

“Hey, now,” She raises her hands in surrender. “I don’t wanna get anyone into trouble here.”

“We’ll find out one way or another,” She scoffs. “I’m Desdemona, the leader of the Railroad--” footsteps distract the small party and, soon, a fourth Railroad member is coming out from the shadows. His demeanour is nothing like the others, however. He’s positively jovial as he stands beside Desdemona. “Ah, Deacon. You’re late.”

“You’re having a party?” He pouts, “What gives with my invitation?”

Uri’s mask of friendliness drops as she looks to the newest agent, for she recognises that voice. It takes her a moment until she puts two and two together but, when she has, she raises an accusing finger to the man.

“You! You’re Stan-- from Starlight Drive-In!”

“You know her?” Desdemona snaps, “I need intel. Who is she?”

“News flash, boss. This lady is _kind of_ a big deal out there. You seriously haven’t heard of her? She’s the leader of the Minutemen and, together, these two cleared out Fort Strong for the Brotherhood. He’s a Paladin, and she’s one of their main Knights or something. Not to mention, she killed Conrad Kellog. Hell, we owe you a damn truckload of Nuka Cola for that one! Last but not least, if she’s to be believed, she has some pretty _personal_ ties to their Elder.”

“A Brotherhood Knight who is seeing the Elder? Is that your idea of _vouching_ for her?” Dez’s eyes are full of ice as she turns her glower back to Uri. Coupled with Danse’s accusing glance, the Knight actually blushes. Luckily, Deacon carries on his tirade of humbling words.

“Believe it or not, _yes_. Trust me, she’s someone we want on our side.”

“Hmm… Alright, _General_. Or Knight. Whichever you prefer. Why did you want to meet with _us_? The Minutemen are doing well, as far as we are concerned. And if you really _do_ have some sort of relationship with Maxson--”

“That last part is false,” She rolls her eyes, “C’mon, Stan-turned-Deacon, you _know_ I was joking.”

“Uh-huh,” Deacon smirks, “a little _too_ defensive for my taste.”

“We’re here regarding the Institute,” Danse butts in. “We have some intel that may be of interest, but we need help decoding it. Do you know anything about the synths they call Coursers?”

“Wait-- you have a _Courser chip_?” For a moment Desdemona’s jaw looks like it’s going to drop through the floor, but she soon recollects herself. “This is _no_ joking matter.”

“We’re deadly serious,” Uri says, pulling the chip from her pocket. Deacon steps forward. His eyes may be covered by those same old sunglasses but, when he speaks, he’s breathless with wonder.

“Dez, we have to let them in for God’s sake! That Courser chip is _intact_!”

“That violates our security protocols!” She hisses.

“To hell with that! They killed a _Courser_! There’s _no way_ they’re working for the Institute.”

“No, but they are working with the exact organisation that would see synths exterminated the first chance they _got_ ,” another woman, with a streak of white hair, growls in fury.

“I can assure you, that’s _not_ why we’re here," Danse pipes up. "The Knight - she freed a synth that the Courser was attempting to capture. We are on your side.”

The agents begin talking amongst themselves; considering their options. Uri takes the opportunity to flash Danse a confused look, which he returns with a reassuring smile. Whether he’s mincing his words to make a good impression, or whether he genuinely means what he’s saying, she doesn’t know. Before their encounter back in Goodneighbor, Uri would have been dead-set on the former scenario. Now, she is not so sure…

“Alright,” Desdemona sighs, “we’re letting you into our headquarters. You’re the first outsiders to ever be given this privilege. We will discuss the details about your chip inside.”

“Thank you,” Uri sighs, feeling a flood of relief. Desdemona merely nods before gesturing for them to follow, and so they do. As they pass the white-haired woman with the minigun, she snaps her words just low enough for the soldier’s to hear:

“I’ve got my eye on you, scum. Remember that.”


	14. Way Back Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this chapter the morning after updating 13, decided I hated it and re-wrote the entire thing. I have copied some dialogue over from the first draft, I hope I managed to make sure this was all seamless.

The Railroad’s headquarters are nothing like Uri had imagined. With Amari’s insinuation that they possess technology like she has never seen - technology of hacking Institute data for their own gain - the Brotherhood Knight had assumed they lived in some sort of crazy, ex-office block heaped with old world terminals. To see them hidden away in the tomb of an old church is disappointing, to say the least. Though Uri does suspect that they have moved here recently. She doesn’t ask, for she suspects they will lie, but the open graves and crumbling walls are a big giveaway. As Tom works on the chip, she wonders where they ran from - and why.

“Alright there, General?” Uri had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed the agent hopping up onto the coffin she is perched against. She turns to him now, noting the similarities and differences between him and “Stan.” They could be two completely different people. Even knowing they are one and the same, not even the glasses would give him away.

“Peachy,” She mutters. It’s a lie, of course. Uri has been uncomfortable since stepping foot into the old tomb; matters were only made worse when Desdemona practically forced them into handing their Courser chip over in exchange for the relay code.

“Relax, Knight-General. Tom’s a little crazy, but all geniuses are. He’ll have your code in no time, then you can be on your merry way.”

“You _do_ know the Brotherhood will throw us overboard for giving you that chip, right?” She quips a concerned brow, but Deacon just laughs.

“That chip is two caps worth or scrap in the hands of anyone but Tom. I know your Brotherhood have their fancy pre-war tech, and they _think_ they’re the smartest son’s of bitches in town, but they’re wrong. Dez was right, earlier. It would take them months to decode that thing - maybe even longer. Hell, they may never crack it. It took us long enough…”

“It’s whatever,” She shakes her head. “I need the code _now_. Maxson will just have to deal with it. I’m sure he won’t be complaining once we’re in there.”

“Damn right.”

A comfortable silence settles between them, and the vault dweller finds her gaze drifting from Tom’s handiwork to Danse. He is sat with the Railroad’s doctor, looking a little more than uncomfortable as the brisk man patches up the scrapes he got from those damn ferals. When he notices that Uri is staring the Paladin offers her a comforting half-smile and, once again, she is hit by a wave of sisterly affection for him. She makes a mental note to give him every single box of snack cakes she comes across in future. He deserves that and more for putting up with her.

The Railroad agents are a stark contrast to her kind-hearted commanding officer. Whilst Deacon is friendly enough, Desdemona is rough and snappy; but even she could be considered a teddy bear when compared to the white-haired woman called ‘Glory.’ Uri has not spoken to the few other agents hanging around, and for good reason. Everyone looks positively horrified at her infiltration. If she possessed any sort of patience, she may have taken the time to learn why that is. But this is Uri. A tired, deflated, emotionally-bruised Uri. Patience is not her forte, so she grinds her teeth at every death stare and bears it.

“Stan-not-really?”

“Yes?” He chuckles.

“Were you the one who left the tape in my cabin?”

“I had to get your attention somehow. Couldn’t have the General leaving out little old us.”

“But why?” she lowers her tone whilst watching her legs sway against the crumbling bricks. “Why did you need me?”

“You’ve made waves, Miss Sanchez. You may not realise it, but the Commonwealth does. Between your interview in D.C’s paper, saving Nick Valentine, rebuilding the Minutemen and joining the Brotherhood, you’ve become a celebrity.”

“Why don’t I know about that?” She queries, trying to think of a time that strangers have regarded her presence as much more than a hindrance.

“Because you’re a woman on a mission. I’ve seen you a few times, out in the ‘Wealth. I can confirm that most eyes are on you wherever you go.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh,” He nods, “Like moths to a flame.”

‘Like wildfire’ her mind offers. Uri wishes she could push the thought aside, but it is becoming more and more apparent that Arthur’s initial analysis of her hit the nail on the head _._ She doesn’t get to ponder this for long, however, as Tom lets out a shrill cheer so loud Uri questions whether he’s burst her damn ear drums.

“I GOT IT! I got the code!” The eccentric laughs wildly, clapping his gloved palms together in glee.

“Excellent work,” Desdemona pats him on the shoulder. Even _she_ looks happy as her eyes fall to Uri. “We’ll get this onto a holotape for you.”

“I can do that,” Tom says, already coming down from his high. “Man, I’m not sure our luck will hold up next time. They’ve changed their patterns.”

“We will find a way. We always do.”

Coming from anyone else, Desdemona’s determination may have been inspiring. Instead, Uri has to fight back a hysterical sort of laughter. She hadn’t noticed her improved eye for security until arriving here. Knight Sanchez may be no tactician, but she knows a lost cause when she sees one. The Railroad are weak; outnumbered by every other faction within the Commonwealth, and with no allies. The Minutemen may be able to provide help, but Dez never asks and Uri sure as hell isn’t going to offer up her people for _this_ chaos. The Institute could put an end to them in seconds. They are working for a good cause, but the lack of trust for synths above ground combined with the faction’s secrecy will be their undoing.

But who is she to burst their bubble?

“Thank you for your help,” Uri says, hopping down to shake hands with the resolute leader. Desdemona returns the gesture in kind.

“Take comfort in knowing that we will be using this chip to cause the Institute as much grief as possible. I hope your superiors will be happy with the code alone.”

“They’re gonna have to be - but thank you, anyway.”

“I’ll see ‘em out, boss,” Deacon pipes up. “Need to head off anyway.”

Uri is more than happy to leave the tomb as fast as humanly possible. Thankfully, Deacon seems to be in just as much of a rush. Stepping over the bodies of the dead ferals, the duo are slightly jolted by the dim sunlight that continues to stream through the church’s splintered roof. The Knight is surprised to see that only an hour has passed between entering and leaving the Railroad’s headquarters… This only adds to her growing pessimism regarding how long the faction are going to last.

“Alright, folks. You’ve got your holotape, and I’ve gotta jet. Mind calling for one of your vertibirds _away_ from here? We don’t wanna be drawing attention to this place.”

“Of course,” Danse says, then gives Deacon a salute in thanks. Uri notices the amused twitch of his lips. The offence takes her by surprise; considering that she responded in a less respectful way when she first saw the Brotherhood’s signature gesture. Arthur had been so patient with her…

She shrugs off the thought before it can go any further.

Uri would give up a limb to head to Diamond City right now. She had been dying to go back before they called for a vertibird, but she sold her soul to the devil as soon as she made that promise to Danse. The Knight would regret her rash decision if not for the exhaustion weighing on the Paladin’s shoulders. He deserves his own bed after weeks out in the wastes.

The Lancer-Pilot who answers their call is someone Uri doesn’t recognise, to her utmost relief. Though she arrives far too quickly for her liking.

“Are you _sure_ you’re ready to go back?” Danse asks. He looks as uncertain as she feels, but Uri does her best to hide it.

“Whether I’m ready or not, I need to get this relay finished. Plus, I miss my brothers and sisters in arms… I’m ready.”

“All set?” The Lancer-Pilot asks, saluting Danse as soon as he turns to her.

“I am. Sanchez?”

“Uh-huh,” she nods, then lets the much taller - and stronger - Paladin lift her aboard. As the pilot readies the vertibird, Uri begins wringing her hands so hard that Danse has to pry them apart.

“You’re going to break something,” He admonishes.

“I hate vertibirds,” she pouts, and the Paladin looks sympathetic. When the 'bird suddenly comes to life, Sanchez clutches his arm like he is life support.

“Just think of the clean showers,” he says. How out-of-character. Uri is so surprised that some of the tension eases from her grip. If she currently had any wits about her she would realise that this was his plan.

“I can’t wait to change into a clean uniform. Honestly, I hadn’t realised how uncomfortable civvies _were_ until these past few weeks.”

“The fatigues aren’t half bad,” Danse says. He has grown rather fond of his, but Uri grimaces.

“I might save them for fighting raiders. They won’t know I’m a woman in gear like this.”

“That’s… actually not a bad idea.”

“I know, right? I’m full of those, you know.”

Danse’s chuckle is carried away by the biting wind. Yesterday’s dense fog has brought today’s fine rain. It’s one of the worst weathers to fly in. By the time you get to your destination, you have no idea how or when you got soaked to the bone. Uri’s hair is now sticking to her forehead, making her huff irritably.

She doesn’t want to go back to the Prydwen. Her time with the Paladin has been the respite she so desperately needed, and she’s worried that this will shatter as soon as she lays eyes on the Elder. But Uri knows that she can’t keep away from the Brotherhood forever. Though it hurts to think she cannot visit places like Goodneighbor again, this damn militia has become her home.

Who would have thought it? Uri Sanchez: a young woman who loved parties, drinking and boys, turned into a passionate soldier by nuclear war. She hopes that somewhere, up above, Nate is proudly beaming down at her. The thought makes her breath catch in her throat.

_I’ll get Shaun back. No more setbacks. No more distractions. I’ll bring him home._

_\--_

“The gantry has been ready for weeks, sir. It’s figuring out what to do with his limbs that’s the problem.”

Ingram is snappier than usual; so much so that he has to wonder if she is getting any rest. Not that he sleeps well either. That damn nightmare continues to plague him, and he imagines it will until he can gain Uri’s forgiveness. But, for now, he will have to sustain himself off caffeine and a heavy workload. One of the two is hard to come by, and it is certainly not the latter.

“Do you know what equipment is needed?” Arthur questions over his yet another coffee, noting the Proctor’s irritated twitch.

“We’ve compiled a list, sure. But half the crap on there is so damn _rare_. I was hoping to hand it over to Proctor Quinlan--”

“ _No_ ,” he says, immediate and final. Ingram looks as though she wants to throw her own coffee in his face, but she thinks better of it.

“Fine, have it your way. Lord only knows how the _hell_ we’re gonna get him moving, though. I have half a mind to send the whole file over to you, you picky little--”

“Elder Maxson, Sir!”

Arthur elects to ignore another wave of Ingram’s insubordinate behaviour in favour of the Lancer-Initiate power-walking towards them. He is breathless but, even so, his salute is on point. He could be poster child of ‘the ideal soldier.’

“Yes, Ougabi?”

“Lancer-Captain Kells sent me to inform you that we have had word from Paladin Danse and Knight Sanchez. They have asked for a vertibird to collect them from the Bunker Hill area, Sir. The Lancer-Captain granted their request. They should arrive by thirteen-hundred hours.”

“Thank you, Lancer-Initiate. You are dismissed.”

Arthur hopes that no one can sense any change in his demeanour. He doesn’t know how people _stand_ this. How they _crave_ it. The Elder cannot decide whether he is nervous or excited. Six long, drawn-out weeks without Uri. Six weeks left contemplating. Reconsidering. Regretting. The report Neriah had sent over is still sprawled open on his desk, and Arthur is sure that he has never spent so much time fawning over any other paperwork. He is dying to speak with Uri, but the thought of doing so also kind of makes him want to jump off the Prydwen before she arrives.

He is snapped back into reality by Ingram’s smug expression. He suddenly feels too exposed in the mess hall, for more than a few curious soldiers are casting glances in their direction. After a moment of glaring at her, Arthur nudges her power-armoured arm and rolls his eyes. “Continue, Proctor. Tell me what you have down on this list of yours.”

\--

Kells is waiting for them when they dock, and it’s reminiscent of Uri’s first time aboard the flagship. His dark eyes brighten as he watches Danse then Sanchez hop onto the catwalk, both with all their limbs still attached and working as they should. The Commonwealth below looks like an oversized model, which adds to her sense of claustrophobia fairly quickly. She wants Diamond City, with its noodles, Nick Valentine, Molotov’s moonshine and Arturo’s modifications. _Damnit_.

“Permission to come aboard, Sir?”

“Granted,” Kells salutes, and the duo mirror him. “Welcome back, soldiers. You have been missed. Please, take some time to get yourselves comfortable. When you are ready, you are to report to Elder Maxson and I on the Command Deck.”

“Noted, Sir. Ad victoriam.”

Uri doesn’t reply, but she offers her superior another quick salute to acknowledge his command. She cannot be angry about Arthur wishing to see them the second they have a free moment. It _has_ been six weeks, after all, and she did run off with the Courser chip. She doesn’t catch Kells’ dismissal, but he must have done so, for Danse is ushering her inside the Prydwen and away from the rain.

“Make sure you bring the holotape… Lord knows how much trouble we’re going to be in for giving the chip up.”

“We had no other choice,” She grumbles. “They weren’t going to help if we didn’t give them something in return. It’s a damn miracle they were willing to give us _anything_ , considering their affiliations.”

“You heard their leader,” Danse murmurs, “they had a debt to pay. They paid it. I just hope Maxson will understand…” The Paladin shakes his head. “We will explain everything in time. For now, there is a shower with my name written all over it.”

“Likewise,” Uri sighs. “See you soon.”

She allows the shower to clear her mind. Instead of panicking, her attention is focused on the water washing away weeks worth of Commonwealth grime. She keeps it brief, but slowly dresses in a new, off-orange flight suit. Standing before the mirror, her reflection looks as exhausted as she feels. With a huff her eyes drift up to her hair. The Knight would give anything for some hair care products right now. She is pleased that it is growing back so quickly, but it’s reached an awkward stage at which it continuously falls into her eyes. A touch of back-combing helps her keep it in line, but she still hates it. Once it is as tame as it is going to get, Sanchez tugs on her deathclaw jacket and heads out of the knights’ locker room. Her hand clutches the sacred holotape so tight it almost breaks.

She isn’t ready to see him yet.

Danse is waiting for her at the bottom of the ladder; happily dressed in his uniform once more. His expression is stoic, but she can see the nerves in his eyes. _No_ , she wants to hiss. _You’re the Paladin. You’re supposed to radiate confidence, not make me feel worse_.

“Ready?” He asks. Somehow, she manages to nod, and he knocks three times.

“Enter.”

Arthur’s eyes are on her instantly. Uri feels like a deer in the headlights as, suddenly, all of her emotions hit her at once. He looks as gorgeous as ever, but those stormy eyes are heavy with a level of exhaustion to rival all others. She wants to hold him. Apologise for being gone for so long. Act like none of this mess ever happened in the first place… But then she pictures Jenny’s lifeless body. The blood spilling out her neck. The look of hatred in his eyes.

It’s easy to hold herself together after that.

“Paladin Danse, Knight Sanchez - welcome back.”

“Thank you, Elder. It’s good to be back,” Danse says, nodding politely. “I can only apologise for being gone for so long, but we managed to decode the Courser chip.”

If Arthur wasn’t the Brotherhood Elder, he’d fall to his knees and thank whatever deity listened to his prayers and answered them.

“Excellent work!” He crows, “May I ask how?”

“The Railroad,” Uri says. Hearing her suddenly pipe up is the equivalent to having a bucket of icy water tossed over his head.

“The _what_?” Snaps Kells.

“Whilst working on a way into the Institute, I came into contact with an individual who has worked with them in the past. When we mentioned that we had a Courser chip, she told us that the Railroad were our best bet at decoding it. So, we followed the freedom trail to their headquarters, and we struck a deal.”

“You did _what_?”

Kells’ dumbstruck responses begin to wear thin on the Knight’s patience. She refrains from rolling her eyes.

“In return for the code to get into the Institute, we had to hand the chip over to the Railroad. It was about two caps worth of scrap to anyone but them. We were hesitant at first, but the technology they adapted to do the job was way beyond anything I’ve seen in the Brotherhood. This is a faction that specialises in foiling the Institutes plans at any given chance. We could have either spent months merely trying to decode it ourselves, or we could hand the chip over and get the one line of code we needed there and then.”

The Lancer-Captain mutters what sounds to be a curse under his breath whilst turning to face the Commonwealth below. Arthur, on the other hand, studies Uri’s face for the first time in six weeks as he lets her words sink in. She is clearly tired and, from the way she holds herself, he can see that she has not forgiven him.

He needs to speak with her alone, but he doesn’t want to use his power as commanding officer against her lower rank.

 _Damnit_.

He can’t even find it in himself to be angry, no matter how foolish they have been.

“If all of this is true, then I trust that your decisions were made in the best interest of the Brotherhood as a whole. Thank you, soldiers. Your work is unparalleled, and will help greatly with the war effort. Paladin, if you feel up to it, I need you to return to Recon Squad Gladius. We have recently promoted a handful of Initiates to Knighthood. Together, you will be working on gathering vital materials for our future plans.”

“Of course, Elder,” Danse nods. It has been too long since Danse spent time with his team. Uri can see that he is eager to return to them.

“Excellent. Before you leave, please see Proctor Ingram for debriefing. You are dismissed.”

“Farewell, Knight,” Danse murmurs, placing a hand on her shoulder. When she looks his way, he offers her a reassuring smile. “Try not to get into too much trouble while I’m away.”

“I can promise nothing, sir,” She smirks, ignoring the way her heart is trying to pound out her chest. _Don’t go_ , she wants to scream. There was no fucking point in coming back in the first place. Uri only agreed to this so Danse could spend a night safe in his own bed. She wants to grab the nearest bottle of Arthur’s alcohol and throw it at his stupid head. Instead, she watches her Paladin leave. Desperately wishing she could go along with him. Hating herself for coming back.

“Knight Sanchez,” Kells says to bring her to attention. It takes everything in her power to fight her lower lip from wobbling. The Prydwen is suddenly too small. Stifling, hot, unbearable.

“Sir?” her voice is meek. Arthur’s chest aches.

“Whilst you have been away, a certain Scribe has been incessant in her questioning of your whereabouts. I feel it is only fair to assign you to work with Neriah’s team for the remainder of today… I understand from the Elder’s debriefing that you have been under too much strain, as of late. For the time being, you will remain on the Prydwen or at the Airport until told otherwise by a senior officer. You will report to me tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred hours for your next assignment. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” her voice cracks. Whether it’s with panic or relief, Uri is not sure. She cannot believe her luck. Arthur has barely spoken a word to her, and now he’s letting her go without demanding her company. When Kells dismisses her she nearly sets off at a jog. The more distance they have between them, the better.

Plus, she can’t wait to see Alice.

Maxson hates himself more than ever as he watches her go. She doesn’t even grace him with a _look_. There is a cocktail of negativity in his chest, and he doesn’t know what the hell he can do to fix the mess he has made. In the weeks they have been apart, he had deluded himself into thinking she had missed him as much as he had her. That illusion has shattered within seconds of her return… And the amount of damage he has caused finally hits home.

He knows that Ingram, of all people, will know what he can do to fix this… But his pride will not allow him to ask for her help. So there he stands, half-listening to whatever the Lancer-Captain has to say whilst he stews in his regret.


	15. Call It What You Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, I think I scrapped this chapter well over three times! I don't even know if I'm happy with it now, but here it is anyway.

After weeks spent in the silence of the wasteland, the sky is too loud for Knight Sanchez. The effect this has is reminiscent of a time lost to the ages; back when little Uri had to pack her bags and move from the city to the suburbs. That first night in her uncle’s single-storey, white picket-fenced house had been one of the hardest of her pre-war life. The worst part was the silence; the city was so loud in comparison. Cold and all-encompassing, giving her no choice but to dwell on that last smile her father had shared with her before boarding his plane weeks before. Uri had spent hours weeping into her pillow; had wondered if it was possible to cry so much that your tear ducts could dry up.

Instead of the bottomless pit of grief, and the adversity to silence, Uri is struck with anxiety so heavy that her heart races. She needs the quiet again. She craves the sound of Danse’s heavy breathing as he sleeps; hates that she came back to this floating rust bucket just to watch him be sent away again. Uri would cry, but no tears will come. She is stuck suffocating with a sinking feeling that she cannot define. Uri just knows that she hates it, and it thrives off of the creaking steel and strong wind outside.

The Knights in her bunk are fast asleep, so no one notices when Uri slips out of her bed to tug on her boots. Over-tiredness has created a fog in her mind, but she knows that she cannot spend another moment in that room. Uri makes her way down to the one place that she knows company will be guaranteed.

Low and behold, the vault dweller finds Ingram nursing the arm of a T-60 suit of armour. The Proctor is so engrossed in her work that she does not notice her companion until she sidles up with some scrap electronics. She doesn’t jump, but a startled blink gives her surprise away

“Good morning, Proctor.”

“Why're you up?”

“Can’t sleep. Figured you’d still be in here.”

She thanks Uri for the parts, and says nothing as amber eyes fixate on her handy-work. Uri wouldn’t know the first thing about repairs this intricate, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy watching somebody else. Ingram uses a small set of pliers to remove the damaged wiring, then carefully attaches a useful-looking replacement from the scrap Uri brought over. It takes time and patience but, eventually, Ingram manages to slot the exposed copper into place. Uri gives her a small round of applause when she’s finished; at which the Proctor rolls her eyes.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“Back at the Citadel. After my amputation, I needed something to do. This was the best option.”

“Must’ve been tough to leave the field behind.”

Uri doesn’t miss the way the Proctor’s jaw tenses. She almost apologises for bringing it up, but Ingram is quick to smooth those rugged edges over.

“I was a Paladin before, you know? One of the best. I’d been part of Lyons pride, in its time. But, after Sarah…” Ingram shakes her head, “doesn’t matter. I miss the field, but what Maxson says goes.”

“What’s Lyons pride?” Uri asks, more to distract her superior than anything else.

“We were an elite squad. Anything the other soldiers couldn’t do was handed to us. Under the Sentinel’s leadership, we were a force to be reckoned with… But then Elder Lyons died, and Sarah took his place. I told her it’d be best to avoid battle, but she ignored me. Apparently the political issues weren’t important--”

“Wait - political issues?”

Ingram seems startled by Uri’s sudden question; like she had almost forgotten who she was talking to. The Proctor takes a moment to recollect herself, and doesn’t speak again until she has scanned the nearby area.

“How much did Arthur tell you about our history?”

“He gave me an outline, but that was before I joined the ranks.”

“Well, it may help bore you to sleep. I’d be happy to give you a history lesson.”

“Please do,” Uri pleads, sitting herself atop one of the stock-filled crates in the centre of the room. The Proctor watches on in amusement before turning back to the work at hand.

“So, the Brotherhood sent a group from the West to East in order to collect technology. Once they arrived in D.C, however, Elder Lyons took one look at the state of things and decided to use the technology preserved to help the people of the Capital Wasteland. That’s how I got into the Brotherhood. Once he died, Sarah decided that they needed to take on more civilians. Sadly, the Brotherhood Outcasts were able to take advantage of that… Arthur probably told you Sarah was killed in battle, but I’ve never really believed that. I think the Outcasts assassinated her so that they could set up shop and, eventually, rejoin our ranks.”

“Jesus,” Uri shakes her head. “Arthur was the one to reunite the Brotherhood, right?”

“Yep. Against all advice I could give. But he’s a damn good tactician, and it’s always suited him to keep friends close but enemies closer. Don’t tell him I said this, but Sarah would turn in her grave if she saw what the Brotherhood had turned into. Arthur’s doing his best, but the Outcasts always did have a little _too_ much influence over him.”

“Who are the Outcasts?”

“A lot of them stayed behind, but your main guys are Quinlan and Kells. There are others scattered throughout the ranks, but I don’t think you’d be too familiar with them. To be fair to them, they’re not all bad. Arthur has done a pretty good job of easing the tension. I think that’s why he brought us out here, really. A good portion of the Brotherhood aboard are still not too keen on the Outcasts philosophy, so he’s dressing it up as ‘freeing the people by killing the Institute.’ Something that’ll appeal to both sides. It’s commendable, if anything. But I see through it. I always have.”

“So… Are you saying that he’s not as against the Institute as he implies?”

“Oh, hell no. He’s against them alright. But synths? I don’t know. They’re not _all_ bad. I heard about this one in Diamond City that the people have taken to. If those guys can accept a synth into their ranks, I don’t really see how they could all be so bad. I’m sure Maxson will come to see that, in time.”

Ingram’s been working on a fraction of the armour’s hinge just a _little_ too long for comfort, and Uri can sense the woman glancing in her direction as she speaks. And that’s when Uri realises - this isn’t _just_ a history lesson at all. Ingram knows full well what happened at Greentech, and she’s trying to get her to forget about it.

“I know what you’re doing,” She snaps, causing the Proctor to jump. “You’re defending him. I know you’re not stupid. I knew he wouldn’t tell everyone the truth - but he told you, didn’t he?”

“Knight,” She looks apologetic, which is somewhat decent at the very least. “I think you should talk to him. He… He’s not been the same, since he got back. I can see it’s affecting you, too. I think it’d do you both good to talk about this--”

“With all due respect, _Proctor_ , I think you need to mind your own damn business.”

Uri storms out of the armour station, blood boiling and eyes burning. She was going to avoid Arthur at whatever cost, but Ingram’s manipulative tactics have riled her up far too much to do that now. No. Now she’s _really_ mad, and it’s about time that he owned up to his actions without having people think up excuses for him. Arthur Maxson is a petulant _child_. He killed an innocent, defenceless woman. If people can defend him after that then _God knows_ someone has to knock him back into reality.

Not that he was ever there in the first place.

“Knight Sanchez,” yelps his guard, who comes to stand in front of the doorway upon seeing her expression. Her warbled voice sounds a little too high-pitched through the speakers of her helmet, which does nothing to ease her irritability.

“I want in,” She growls, “I’m going to politely ask that you move out of my way.”

“Can’t do, Sister. You look like you’re ready for a fight, and I’m here to prevent that.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?” She laughs wildly, “You think I’m going to kill your precious Elder? Not likely, though the thought is _very_ tempting right now.”

The door groans as it opens, revealing a cloudy-eyed Arthur. He’s still in his uniform, but from the look of the key indentations on his cheek, he’d fallen asleep at his desk some time ago. The Elder blinks rapidly, as though that will help get rid of the exhaustion written across his face.

“Let her in, Delay.”

An order is an order. Delay hesitates momentarily, but sidesteps Uri before she can be threatened with punishment for ignoring his request. Always the good soldier. She is completely surrounded by people who bend to his every Goddamn whim. Coming back here was a _huge_ mistake - it’s all Uri can think about as she steps into Arthur’s quarters for the first time in weeks.

She is immediately thrown by the files scattered across every conceivable surface.

“Apologies for the mess, I’ve been… researching,” He mutters, dropping onto his bunk with a yawn. Uri watches him through narrowed eyes, hating how relaxed he is. It’s not fair. None of this is _fair_ . A thunderous clang suddenly echoes through the room; Arthur jolts upright and instinctively yanks out his combat knife, but it’s just Uri stood by an overturned chair. The exact chair she has just thrown into the wall. He is clearly unimpressed by her theatrics… and there it is. That angry glare that twists his features. _That’s_ more like it.

“So, you’ve got subordinates defending you now? Are you _that_ pathetic that you can’t even face me yourself?”

“What are you _talking_ about?”  

“Ingram’s what I’m talking about! Did you bribe her or something? Tell her she could go on field duty if she buttered me up for you?”

“I don’t-- what are you _referring_ to? What’s going on?”

“Don’t act all fucking _innocent!_ I am so _tired_ of you. You expect everyone to do everything you say. You think you can waltz around the wasteland and do whatever you want without backlash. Well guess _what_ , you _brat_ \- you _can’t._ Not with me!”

If she wasn’t so furious, Arthur’s expression would be downright comedic. He has dropped the knife on his bed, and his hands remain up in a white-flag gesture. Meanwhile, his mouth drops open then shuts as he wracks his brain for something to say. His mind is still clouded with sleep, which _certainly_ doesn’t help his cause. His first instinct is to go on the defensive, but he is with it enough to know that doing so will not solve this issue... So he pulls out the tactician within. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. She is purposefully trying to rile him up. She’s spoken with Ingram, which is why she barged in to begin with… Ingram has clearly tried to defend him, then. The thought may be touching if he didn’t want to shove the meddling Proctor off the foredeck.

“Uri, please. I did not ask Ingram to talk to you. I don’t have the slightest idea what she has said. All I can do is apologise. She shouldn’t have done what she did.”

“How can she _defend you_?” Uri spits. Her pent-up nervous energy becomes too much to deal with, so she begins to pace. She can’t stay still. No part of her can. She heads over to the table and begins sifting through the files - looking for something else she can hold over him. “How is it that you can just kill an innocent and not give a… a… what?”

The files. They’re all on… _synths._ Arthur watches her brow furrow; anger momentarily forgotten as she plucks up the nearest sheet. The margins are covered with notes written in the same handwriting as that stupid poem. And they’re not evil. They’re curious. He has been teaching himself about them. Any data on their biology that the scribes have managed to collect, he has. Wide eyes turn to the rest of the pages, and then she’s crossing the room to look on his desk. More files - pictures of decomposing bodies labelled synth. _Biological_. Not metal. Not _machine_.

Confused. She’s so confused, and it’s getting in the way of her anger and _God_ she doesn’t want it to. She’s spent weeks stewing over this. Over his thoughtlessness, his ridiculous views and how they will _never_ fucking change. _This_ was never in the variables. Arthur Maxson, researching synthetic humans to learn more _about_ them. She can’t begin to understand how, or _why._ He capitalises on her silence.

“After Greentech, I started experiencing nightmares. The way it _died_. I had to understand. What I did to you was deceitful and _wrong._ I knew that immediately. But that thing? Killing one up close…” He shakes his head, “I’m not going to stand here and say my views have changed. I won’t lie to you. But I feel more open… more willing to explore the possibility that I may be wrong about them. Not all of them, but _some_.”

She hadn’t realised she was staring at him until he goes to close the distance between them. Uri flinches in surprise, and he pauses - hand outstretched ever-so-slightly. She wants to kick and scream, but not because she’s angry at him. No. Now she’s angry at herself, because no matter how much she claims she isn’t like the rest… to an extent, she is. Because she can feel her resolve slipping. His eyes are so desperate. So _expressive._

“Please, Uri. I am not asking you to forgive me. I understand that your views are your own and, truth be told, I don’t _want_ to change them. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair and breaks their eye contact, “I’m searching for the right thing to say that will make you hate me less. I don’t _want_ to hurt you anymore, but I don’t know how to stop. You’re right. Until this point, I have done what I pleased, and I can’t go on like that. I don’t want to ignore how my actions may impact others emotionally… Especially _you._ That is why I have these files. Just to see. To try to _understand_.”

In this moment, Uri cannot help but compare this Arthur to the Elder she had met when the first boarded the Prydwen. Elder Maxson had kept her at arm's length. He did whatever it took to prevent her from breaking through his defences. Tactical decisions were made. They fought, they made up, they fought again… But, somehow, it seems that she has successfully slipped through those barricades of his, and done so without realising it.  

Little does Uri know that, to Arthur, she hasn’t just slipped through. No, she’s taken all the gas left in the ruins of the wastes and scorched the entire thing. He is reminded of those words often spoken to him as a child: ‘ _your soul was forged from eternal steel, young Maxson. Never forget that.’_ He had never believed it. Sometimes, when the pain of loneliness overcame him, he wanted to scream that he wasn’t. He was just a kid. A normal boy, with normal feelings and hopes and fears and dreams. But then Sarah died, and that concept of steel kept him going…

Who knew it would take a pre-war vault dweller, of all people, to bring him back to reality. The small-yet-fiery woman before him has changed so much, and she can’t _see_ it. She can’t see the impact she’s had on him. She thinks that this is all normal. _God,_ he wishes it was. Can she not see that he would give anything to be able to provide her with the right kind of relationship? She makes him crave the pre-war era, where they could go out on dates for those fries she once cooked in Cabot house. They wouldn’t have to worry about being eaten by super mutants or the responsibilities of running a mass army currently occupying two parts of Eastern America. It’s completely insane. She has made him _insane_.

Whilst a battle wages in his mind, Uri begins to read through some of his notes. They are not lengthy or descriptive in any way, but when has Arthur ever _really_ been capable of a critical analysis of his own views? It’s a miracle that he has attempted this in the first place, and that’s what keeps her rooted to the spot as her eyes hover over words like _almost identical_ and _able to decompose_. His frustration can be seen through various holes dug into the paper by his bright red pen, near points in the original text where his pre-determined opinions have clearly been challenged. The Knight wonders who gave him these files, and how terrified they were of his potential response to seeing phrases such as ‘ _able to express human emotions, at the very least_.’

“I wish you’d realised this sooner,” Uri finally sighs, tossing the papers aside so she can look at him properly. “You know I’ll never be able to forget it, right? I need you to understand that this isn’t something I can just ignore. I’ll give you a chance, but it’s going to take time.”

“I understand,” he nods. The impatient side of him wants to argue; remind her that this is all such a huge change for him. Sadly, Arthur knows that - as much as he hates to back down - asserting his position will make her leave again. So, the Elder continues to make tactical decisions no matter how damaging they are to his pride. It’s so worth it, though, to see that tired smile that plays at her lips.

“Now, can you _please_ do something about this mess? I’d hate for anyone to learn that their Elder lacks military discipline.”

The amusement that wipes the disappointment from her eyes has Arthur obediently collecting the papers. He will need to sort them some other time, lest he incite the wrath of Quinlan’s meticulous obsession with archives. Uri can feel a sultry line titillating the tip of her tongue, but she’s not ready for that yet. Oh, but if he can really prove himself…

She decides to put the chair she had thrown back, before that thought can go any further.

“It’s rather late,” He murmurs, “I’m glad you woke me. I fell asleep at my desk.”

“I thought as much,” Uri snorts, “You had your keyboard printed on your cheek.”

To see her _not_ glowering or avoiding eye contact is absolutely divine. The warmth in his chest does not grow gently. On the contrary, it’s like surge of electricity thawing the icy doubt that had overcome him the second she was dismissed by Kells.

“Why _are_ you awake?” Arthur asks, ignoring his crazy response to her companionable presence. Uri’s amused grin turns to a pout as her eyes dart to the window above his desk.

“It’s so damn _loud_ up there. You’re lucky with your peaceful quarters and comfy bed. Us Knights have to sleep in barracks! _Barracks,_ Arthur! Pre-war bunk-beds, no peace and _definitely_ no privacy. It’s any wonder soldiers manage to produce squires aboard this thing. I was going crazy in there.”

“Well, you could always use Paladin Danse’s quarters whilst he is on recon? I doubt he would be opposed to that.”

He won’t meet her eyes and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. He knows she needs time, so he is offering her an alternative to his bed… but, as much as she needs some time, she also thinks back to how well she slept curled into his side. Never has she felt as rested as she did waking up beside him. But is she prepared to risk that?

He seems to be putting her first for once. So she shakes her head.

“If you’ll have me, I’d rather stay with you?”

He can barely believe she said it. If Arthur had not been watching her whilst she did, he would have sworn he imagined it. With her stood before him, unkempt hair sticking out at odd angles and amber eyes glimmering with nerves, he could never refuse her. He never wants to again; wonders how he managed all those times before.

“Like you had to ask,” he chuckles deeply, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the wall. Uri breathes out a relieved sigh and watches him. He looks exhausted, and she feels nothing but sorrow until he's pulling the zipper down to reveal the scarred expanse of his muscled chest.

“You got any t-shirts?” she coughs. She won’t last keeping it PG with eighty percent of her body pressed against his. Wearing nothing but boxers, Arthur pads over to the chest at the end of his bed and pulls out an old, grey shirt. Whilst closing down his terminal, the Elder finds himself lost in thought. Tomorrow is an extremely busy day - full of prime updates and chasing the scribes up about the code on that sacred holotape… But, watching Uri climb under his sheets wearing his t-shirt, Arthur wonders how he will ever find the strength to leave his bed again.


	16. 'Aint That A Kick In The Head?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll proofread later. Probably. Enjoy!

For the first time in days, the sun is not hiding behind that blasted sheet of grey-white clouds. It spills through the few-and-far-between windows of the Brotherhood airship, casting a beam of dust-filled light into the Elder’s quarters. Arthur cannot remember the last time he slept in so long that he was up after the sun. He can imagine the response of those he has to remind of their subordinate positions, though. Lancer-Captain Kells is an intelligent man; chances are that Delaney informed him of Uri’s appearance. The man has always taken quite the caring role for Arthur, as much as he attempts to shrug that off. Yes, Kells will have informed those that had scheduled appointments with him that the Elder is catching up on some much-needed rest. 

If it were not for the body entangled with his own Arthur would be furious. Sleeping in sets a terrible example to those under his command; how can they look up to him if he can’t even  _ get up _ to be there when they come running with questions? To deliver vital information? To discuss what will happen next with the Relay, or Prime?

His thoughts pause as Uri lets out a slight huff. Her breath fans across his shoulder, and the Elder cannot resist turning his head to check on her. She is still lost in sleep, but she must have sensed his body tense under her own. Half of her slight frame has draped over his through the night, and he takes the gesture as a reminder of her deeper feelings for him. Despite the current overcast in their relationship, his Knight in combat armour still trusts him enough to share his bed. The thought warms his chest. Gives him  _ hope.  _

He finds it odd how intimacy can change his perception of her. The logical side of him knows that Uri is very average in looks, with eyes set just the tiniest fraction too-close together and a chin that juts out ever-so-slightly. There is a certain roundness to her cheeks that speaks of her pre-war past; and a handful of scars across her forehead that he presumes are from the chicken pox. Now that her hair has somewhat grown out, it sticks up at odd angles in a way that makes her unique face shape stand out. The nearly unnoticeable lack of symmetry has been marred by the scar coating her cheek, which has done nothing if not make her flaws stand out even more.

But those full, pouty lips of hers are magnetising. And her eyes… He is yet to find a colour he likes more than their amber hue. Then there is her smile, which barely ever comes without that mischievous glimmer in those whiskey depths. It intoxicates him far more than his favourite liquor ever could. She has lost some of the softness her pre-war figure once had, but the curvaceous rise of her ass and hips speak of a life where she was once very well-fed. She has always enjoyed running, and that is something one must become very familiar with in the wastes. Uri returned to the Prydwen with improved muscle mass that he finds his palms drawn to; remembering the time that her thighs wrapped around him… The sound of his name -  _ first  _ name - dripping from her tongue as he lavished her with his affections. The soft muttering she often does while she dreams. The way she bites her lip when she is frustrated; the slight blush that blotches her olive cheeks when she is flustered or lost in the throes of pleasure.

She is a work of art, and art doesn’t have to be perfect. Arthur doesn’t want perfect. He thinks back to the women Kells hinted at in the past; they were the stereotypical pre-war ideals, minus the pin-up figures and blinding white smiles. Renowned soldiers, daughters of the Heads of X or Y, pretty scientists with keen eyes and sharp minds. But not a single one had appealed to him. Until Uri, he thought himself mad. Arthur blamed it on Sarah's death; not due to the loss of his childhood crush, but the strain that her death put on the remnants of his youth… He catches himself smiling as he imagines introducing them to one another. Uri and Sarah would get on like a house on fire, he just knows it.

If he was more self-aware, Arthur would be able to put a label on the tightness in his chest and flutter of his stomach. But he has been groomed into a role that disallowed emotional exploration, so he takes it all at face value as he raises a hand to comb through locks of unruly raven hair. He doesn’t mean to wake her, but is far from apologetic as amber meets blue.

“Creep,” she mutters without meaning. The insult is muffled halfway through leaving her lips by a far-from-graceful yawn. He has to stop himself from smirking. 

“Good morning to you, too,” his tone is chiding, but the joy in his gaze tells Uri everything that he will not say. She had no idea that he would miss her this much - hadn’t thought that she was so important to the gruff, focused Elder plotting from his battleship in the sky.

“Time’s it?” 

“Haven’t a clue,” he says, shrugging the shoulder she doesn’t have pinned to the bed. Her lips quip into a surprised smirk.

“Elder Arthur Maxson, are you telling me that you slept in - the sun has risen before you have, and you didn’t immediately battle your way to my pip-boy?”

“That I am,” his grin is so carefree that Uri feels something melt in her chest. It has her reaching to cup the bristles of his beard in her palm. The humour in his eyes turns into hopeful surprise and, despite her hesitancy, Uri cannot resist propping herself up to kiss those gorgeous lips.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to sleep here every night,” she whispers when it’s over, pressing her forehead against his. 

“Of course. I’d like that.”

“Perfect,” she draws away far enough to begin toying with his hair. “I’ll keep my bunk in case your irritating ass does something to cross the line, if that’s all the same to you?”

“I would expect nothing less, lest you do something to make me question why I ever agreed to you sleeping in here  _ every  _ night.”

“Cool,” she nods. Then she is rolling off of him far too soon; moaning softly as she stretches her sleepy limbs. Arthur folds his arms behind his head to watch and appreciate the way her spine curves. “Hey, Elder Lazy. You wanna pass me my pip-boy?”

Arthur grants her request by reaching out of the bed for it. He has to tug over the chair she deposited it on the night before, which is nothing if not comedic for her. She is still chortling at his ridiculous behaviour as she begins fiddling with the nobs. Diamond City Radio warbles out the speakers on a low volume; once it’s clasped on her arm she studies her stats, and clicks her tongue.

“I’m gonna need to see Cade about some Rad-Away. Looks like my travels have upped the good old radiation levels.”

“I hate your aversion to radiation,” he grunts. “I am going to get the scribes working on a better repellant.”

“I haven’t had a good two-hundred years to develop any mutations against it, kiddo. Respect your elder and her inferior body. Don’t forget your roots.”

“When you put it like  _ that  _ it sounds rather disturbing.”

“My main aim in post-apocalyptic life is to disturb you, dearest, so I thank you.” He chuckles lightly, watching as she climbs over him to stand up. “Anyway,  _ one _ of us has work to do. Where are the towels?”

“Second drawer in the shelving cabinet. I’ll ask whoever is on duty to get you a flight suit.”

“Thanks!” she calls, already halfway through closing the bathroom door. Arthur listens as the shower’s spray rains down against steel, and sighs. He would give anything to stay here, but if Uri is up before him then he knows he has been in bed for long enough. He cannot leave until he has had a shower himself, so he peers out to ask the morning guard - Jenkins - for a female suit, then pads over to his terminal to check the intra-mail.

Arthur is still sat at his terminal when Uri re-enters. She’s surprised that, despite her state of undress, his eyes remain glued to the screen. A frown marred his features - and the Knight realises he’s angry about something.

“Shower’s all yours,” She says, experimenting with gentility. Arthur hadn’t noticed the water shut off, never mind her reappearance. She is stood off to the side, by the bathroom door, using an old comb to battle with her unruly hair. Despite his frustrations, Arthur smirks.

“Would you care for some help?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs, and Uri watches the way his smile creases the weather-damaged skin of his eyes. The way she wants to linger has her bouncing on the balls of her feet; suddenly filled with uncertainty. Images of him pulling her into a kiss cloud her mind, but so do echoes of blood pooling at her feet. He doesn’t see the humour drain from her face; he’s too busy switching off his terminal. Before he can question what’s wrong, she plasters a grin on her face.

“Any orders, Elder?”

“Kells is unimpressed with you for not reporting to him, this morning. He has asked that I inform you to see Cade.”

“Oh? He the boss now?”

Uri doesn’t miss the darkening of his eyes. He smiles regardless.

“Go, Uri. I will see you later on.”

“Of course,” She nods, “I’ll see myself out.”

“You  _ may _ want to put on that suit over there, unless you’re wanting to give the others a heart attack.”

“Good point,” Uri grins, turning to the folded flight suit sat on the table. As she slips into the clothing she pictures the surprised look the Knight outside must’ve worn as their Elder asked for a female-fitted suit. Jenkins must be off duty now… Well, gossip will spread like wildfire now. Oddly, Uri cannot bring herself to care.

The halls are cramped with aspiring Knights working on repairs, but the sound of Ingram barking instructions is nowhere to be found. Uri notes this as odd, and makes a mental note to ask someone about that later. It is much unlike the Proctor to miss out on bossing her lessers around. The Knight suspects it has something to do with her pent-up frustrations regarding a lack of field work. The redhead is far from malicious, after all. 

“Come on in, Knight!” Cade calls, preventing her from hovering in the doorframe. The Knight-Captain’s clinic is just as organised as she remembers it - an amazing feat, considering the difficulties of housekeeping 200 years after nuclear war. Medical trinkets are set into neat rows on every conceivable surface - except for his counter-turned-desk, which is as pristine as always, save for his clipboard and a single file. She doesn’t have to be a genius to figure out whose file it is.

“Good morning, Sir. I have been ordered to see you by the Elder - but something tells me that you already knew that,” she gestures to the file, and he smiles.

“Actually, it was Captain Kells who requested a full medical examination. You will need it considering your lack of exposure to radiation in childhood. How are you feeling?”

“I checked my stats on my Pip-Boy, and I’m definitely going to need a good dose of Radaway. Aside from the radiation, though? I feel fine. I picked up a couple of scrapes, but it was nothing a stim couldn’t fix.”

“Excellent. Well, I will set up the IV. If it’s all the same, I would like to run some checks just in case there is anything the Pip-Boy missed. I don’t entirely trust Robco’s medical advice - I’m sure you understand.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she chuckles. Dozens of classified info she has stumbled across comes to mind - the destruction both Robco and General Atomics’ old machines have wrought on unsuspecting wastelanders falls pretty high on the list... Uri hadn’t got on with Cade in the past, but his gruffness seems to have diminished. Does it have something to do with her retrieval of the Relay’s coding?

He takes her blood pressure first, then hooks her up to an IV. The all-too familiar nausea accompanies the washout of radiation, but she battles through it. After all, nothing can beat her experience following the Glowing Sea. Once he has determined she has no bone fractures or mental impairments, and the bag has dried itself up, Cade offers her yet  _ another  _ smile.

“That’s everything. I must commend you on taking care of yourself, Knight. Considering your pre-war genetics, you have handled yourself remarkably well.”

“I  _ think _ that was meant to be a compliment?” Uri scoffs, though it lacks heart. “Thanks, Doc.”

It’s not until she reaches the doorway that she pauses. Cade clearly notices; Uri would have to turn around to see him, but the sound of clattering instruments is put on hold.

“Is there something else?”

“I… Yeah, actually. I was wondering… do you have any stuff on contraception?”

The surprise that crosses his face has her blushing. Damnit. 

“Of course,” Cade mutters, almost to himself. “You are pre-war… Apologies, Knight. It’s just, with how infertile most of us are, it is rare to come across an individual asking to  _ prevent _ pregnancy. Some would kill for your genetics.”

“Yeah, well, let’s not spread my eligibility for surrogacy around. I’m still looking for my brother - I don’t have time for kids.”

“I am afraid I do not currently possess anything of use, but it is something I can have the scribes look out for on hospital sweeps. I will order them to hunt down files… It shouldn’t be too difficult to come up with something.”

“Great. Thanks, Captain!” 

\--

“Ah, yes. This finding is more miscellaneous, but it will certainly boost morale!” Quinlan moves a handful of files aside to reveal a set of blueprints. Arthur is stood in the Proctor’s Records office, surrounded by rotting boxes of files and shelves of old-world books. It is times like this that he is grateful to be Elder - though he would never admit it aloud, he would hate carrying out scribe duties. They are important; but incredibly dull.

“This is the design for one of the old coffee machines before the war. That blasted thing in the mess hall is on its last legs so, with your permission, I would like to assign three scribes and two knights to collecting the materials for it.”

“Outstanding,” Arthur grins, admiring the sleekness of the design. He suddenly finds himself more interested than before. “Uri will love this…”

When the Elder looks up, Quinlan looks extremely unimpressed. Suddenly realising he spoke aloud, Arthur clears his throat.

“Permission granted, Proctor. You may want to relay this information to Proctor Teagan so that he may--”

“Elder Maxson!” 

The high-pitched yell startles both the Proctor and the Elder. The calling of his name is followed by a series of boots thudding against the catwalk. The two men exchange confused glances as they listen in on the ruckus. 

“You’re doing it  _ wron g _ _._ You cannot just shout for the Elder! You have to wait until he acknowledges you.”

“But Proctor Ingram said--”

“You must  _ never _ forget protocol, even if you are relaying the most important information in the whole wasteland--”

“Can I  _ help yo u _ _,_ squires?”

The youngsters jump with fright; neither having seen the Elder step out into the hall. The squire who so rudely called for him is none other than Thomas Sykes - he is accompanied by Isabel Magee, whose fair skin flushes so furiously under his disapproving glare that Arthur begins to wonder if she will pass out with shame.

“A-Apologies, Elder. Squire Sykes - he did not mean to be rude--”

“Sir, the Relay is finished! Proctor Ingram sent us to tell you!”

“ _ No  _ she didn’t,” Magee folds her arms. “Squire Sykes just beat the Initiate here. I tried to stop him, Sir.”

“Snitch,” Thomas seethes.

“ _ Enough!" _  Arthur growls so fiercely that the two children snap straight to attention. “While I appreciate the information, I am wholly unimpressed with your complete disregard for the rules. Sykes, you are to visit Proctor Teagan immediately and tell him of your misdemeanour. Magee, you are to take the next airbus back to the airport - Head-Scribe Davidson can reprimand you however she sees fit for abandoning your schooling.”

The Scribes trudge away wearing disheartened expressions, just as an enraged-looking Initiate almost falls against a nearby wall in haste. Wide, horrified eyes land on the Elder.

“Sir, I’m so sorry - that Squire, he locked me in a storage unit!”

“His punishment will be handled. Please,  _ do  _ try to pay more attention in future. If you cannot handle squires then I hardly think you will last in the field of battle.”

The crestfallen Initiate makes a hasty exit, leaving the halls at peace once more. Quinlan’s tired sigh breaks the near-silence; when Arthur turns to him, the Proctor is beginning to re-organise the files they had been going through.

“Would you care for me to arrange a meeting, Elder?”

“Please,” Arthur nods, “send an intramail message to the other Proctors, Sykes and Kells. I would also appreciate it if word could be sent to Paladin Danse? Considering it is his sponsee that is heading to the Institute, it is only fair he knows.”

“Of course. I will do so immediately.”

“Excellent. Outstanding work as always, Quinlan. I look forward to seeing the end results. Dismissed.”

It is rather odd; dismissing someone just to get out of their vicinity. Arthur has done this in the past, but not like this. Not  _ for _ this. The Proctor already considers him half-mad, so God only knows what’s going through his mind as the Elder paces out of the room. He wants to go back to his office, but knows that he will be pounced on almost immediately by someone else. Instead, he turns for the mess hall, ignoring the strange glances he gets as he eyes the archway to the right. It’s nothing but a platform to support the stairs to the sleeping quarters above, but it’s private.

There’s a complete lack of colour in this part of the ship. It’s void of people, conversations and propaganda. His only company is the light fixture above his head, which very much reminds him of an accusers spotlight as he clutches the barricade before him. His mind swims with fear, forcing him to question the decisions he’s made since Uri disappeared. The relay is finished. It’s time to infiltrate the institute. There is no one more qualified than she is; no one who deserves to get in there more than she does. The Institute stole her brother and murdered those she considered family. She would never forgive him if he refused her entry.

Yet, the thought of sending  _ her _ \- out of everyone - is positively unbearable.

So here he is, caught between a rock and a hard place. As Elder of the Brotherhood, he has had to make a vast amount of difficult decisions. Most have ended favourably, few have been catastrophic. The wonderful thing about his position is that he gets to control the variables. As the greatest strategist in their chapter, no decision is made without enquiring with him first. It can be a great weight when things go wrong, but it means that nothing happens without his consent. Everything Arthur has done, he has done for the Brotherhood. He used to think he was a part of that; he is an extension of their foundation rather than a separate entity. He was content to continue down that path. It was what he was born for, after all. 

This is just another example of how Uri has thrown his world off-kilter. Tactically, she has to go… But, emotionally, he cannot face the thought of failure. It’s then that it hits him. Ingram was right. 

He is in love with Uri Sanchez; the doe-eyed, sharp-tongued woman-out-of-time. 

\--

“Friar, I need you to check on that sample I told you about an  _ hour _ ago. Damnit, Reynolds, you’re going to ruin those crops if you keep pouring water like we’re not living in a nuclear hellscape. Sanchez, as lovely as it may be to know you’re alive and well, I need you to get the hell outta here and  _ stop _ distracting my scribes -- ah, Lancer-Captain, always a pleasure. Please, feel free to take the Knight with you when you leave.”

“Neriah,” the Captain nods, turning to Uri. She has sat herself atop one of the fluorescent storage containers by the Head-Scribe’s terminal, where she allows her pip-boy to blast out that damned radio station from Diamond City. “Knight, if you are attempting to shirk your responsibilities, then you must find better hiding places. Come, we have a meeting to attend.”

“What? Now?” Uri’s brow draws into a frown as Kells nods. She finally notices that his expression is steely - more-so than usual. It makes her heart skip uncomfortably; she shuts off the radio. “Has something happened?”

“You will be pleased to know that Proctor Ingram has finished building the Molecular Relay. Elder Maxson has called for a meeting at the Airport. From the looks of things, you will be infiltrating the Institute tomorrow.”


	17. One More Tomorrow

If Arthur notices Delaney’s jaw drop, he doesn’t show it. Uri does suppose they make a rather odd sight; the Brotherhood Elder following one of many Knights to his quarters, carrying two spoons and a Nuka Cola whilst he expertly balancing two bowls of brahmin-and-tato stew. The surprised guard is left to ponder what will happen next as Uri closes the door behind them.

“Well, _that_ was exhausting,” Uri says through a yawn. Arthur hums in response; too hungry to dwell on the meeting just yet. He has shoved three spoonfuls of the broth into his mouth before Uri so much as sits down, but she doesn’t complain as he reaches over to pop off the lid of their shared Cola.

The last thing the Knight wants right now is a lack of conversation. Every time she’s left with her thoughts, her mind goes into overdrive. The nerves she’s dealing with feel like live wires… Lord only knows how the _hell_ she will sleep tonight. It was apparent in their meeting that everyone is on board with Uri entering the Institute, considering her ties to one of the many missing people in the Commonwealth. The thought of her being the Knight to infiltrate becomes that much more appealing when you consider the circumstances of Shaun’s disappearance - being stolen from a cryogenic vault and all. It was a huge relief to _not_ have to fight her superiors, for a change.

Even though a part of her wanted to scream at them.

It wasn’t necessarily the meeting that has her feeling drained… It’s Quinlan. Ever since Ingram told Uri the tale of the Outcasts, the Proctor’s disdainful behaviour makes sense. Where Kells works with the Elder, Quinlan is constantly poking holes. Not in such an overt manner that he could be considered unloyal - but in the snake-like, behind-the-scenes sort of way that reminds Uri of pubescent, middle-school drama. Only this isn’t middle-school. This is post-war politics; much more dangerous than a bunch of kids mocking one another behind their 'friend’s’ back.

“I would ask if you are feeling alright, but I feel that would be a ridiculous question under current circumstances.”

“You’re not wrong,” Uri smiles, though it’s void of her usual spark. Grey-blue eyes continue to study her as she takes a shaky gulp of their Cola. “I’m just worried, is all. This… It’s everything I’ve been fighting for. Tomorrow, I might finally see Shaun again… And I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Uri’s voice falters with the tightening of her chest, and Arthur reaches over to take her hand in his. His calloused thumb traces soft patterns against her palm, and she wills the feather-like touch to distract her from the sudden wave of panic.

“What if he’s not there, Arthur? What if he doesn’t _want_ me there? Maybe he enjoys being part of the Institute. He’s just a kid - God knows what bullshit they’ve been pushing into his head.”

“No matter what you find, you will get the answers you so desperately need. You will know the truth. Either way, you will finally be able to make peace with your past - maybe not instantly, but eventually… And I will be here for you. Always. That you can count on.”

“Now, now,” She laughs, but it’s full of nerves as her eyes dart to the window. “Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.”

“I never do,” he swears, refusing to look away. She is full of doubt as she glances in his direction; feeling all-too-much like she is stuck in the tug of a black hole she is in absolutely no place to explore. Uri draws her hand away, masking her retreat behind a languid stretch as she stands.

“I’m going to grab a quick shower,” she grimaces, “Sitting in Neriah’s cesspit of a lab makes you feel like you’ve been rolling around the wastes and some.”

“Alright,” Arthur chuckles, fighting the painful clench of his chest. He reminds himself that he is lucky to get whatever he can. He may be in love with her, but she is still hurt by the murder of the synth-- of Jenny. On top of that, she is carrying two huge burdens. On one hand, she has a duty to Nate and Nora to find their son. On the other, she has to gather as much intel as possible on a top-secret organisation that they know next to nothing about… All whilst wondering if tomorrow will be her final day.

No. He cannot think about that. Can’t so much as consider it.

Once he returns from the mess hall, Uri is out of the shower. She is standing by his desk in nothing but a towel, frozen as though she has been caught with her hand in an owned box of dandy boy apples. She looks over her shoulder with wide eyes, not realising that the sight of her like that has knocked any logical train of thought from his mind.

“I’m not snooping, I promise. I needed a distraction in the shower so I used the shaver in the bathroom to tidy up my body hair, 'cause that's a thing we did before the war and it's started growing back now, but then I noticed it was the only shaver you had in there so I felt bad but I didn’t think you’d want to use one that I used to--”

“Uri,” He shakes his head, unable to help the smile playing at his lips. “I can get more, don’t worry yourself over something so trivial. What’s mine is yours.”

The tension leaves her body as she sighs. He’s right. She is getting so wound up that the slightest issue is setting her off. Tomorrow she is going to be teleported by extremely questionable technology, and she’s working herself up over a damn shaver? Her sudden burst of laughter is anything but reassuring, and Arthur suddenly feels selfish for getting caught up in his own emotional turmoil.

“Is there anything I can do to ease your worrying, Uri?”

She seems surprised by his question, which has him wondering just how self-centred he has been in the past. Her amber eyes study him for a moment; making him feel a sudden bout of self-consciousness, as amber leaves blue to fall to his lips. She contemplates for seconds, but it feels like forever as Arthur’s heart begins to jump. The last time she gave him that look, she had seduced him in Sanctuary.

“Make me forget for a while,” she breathes. Her words so quiet that he only just catches them and, even then, he has to wait until she has closed the distance between them to be completely sure. If he were a greater man, he would stop her from unfastening the makeshift hold of her towel so it drops to the ground; from pushing the coat from his shoulders. But he is weak. Not for just _anything._ For her, though, he is positively fragile. She has peeled his suit away from his upper-body by the time he pulls her against him, catching her lips in a searing kiss that steals the breath from her lungs.

This is what she needs, right now. It doesn’t matter that he’s made mistakes in the past - not when she could die tomorrow. No, it doesn’t matter. Not when he whispers sweet nothings against her throat as he pauses from nipping at the soft skin of her collar. His half-undressed body lays beside hers rather than on top, which has her throwing him a confused glance until his hand snakes down to tease her inner thigh. Uri cannot bring herself to question it as her legs fall open; his teasing patterns set her aflame, wiping her mind clean of anything save the way his stubble scratches the skin of her breasts as he circles his tongue around her nipple - coaxing both respectively into peaks.

“ _Yes_ _,”_ she gasps as his left hand moves closer to her now aching clit. But he pauses, and then his hand is gone. Uri almost wails in disappointment as her eyes fly open, but the mattress is tipping under her, and Arthur has suddenly moved from beside her to the inside of her thighs. Uri’s heart jumps in excitement; sending yet another shot of heat down to her dampened folds. The bristled texture of his facial hair on her sensitive skin tickles deliciously as he begins kissing up from her knee to her thigh. His blue-grey eyed are hooded with want, yet blown with a desire to please. Uri had originally been hinting at little more than sex, but she is _much_ more interested to see where he plans to take this.

“Is this what you’d like, Uri?” Hot breath fans against her aching lips, “For me to make you come with my mouth?”

“Mhm. Yes. God, please, _yes.”_

“Will that please you, my Knight?” his lips brush her clit as he speaks. Uri’s lower body is _burning_ \- her entire body thrums with a build-up of need she hasn’t felt in… well, as long as she can remember. All those weeks in the wastes left little time for self-help, and she wasn’t about to proposition _Danse_ for a quickie.

“Yes, Arthur. Please.”

“You look beautiful like this,” he places a quick, hard kiss to her aching nub, and her back arches in delight - but it’s over as fast as it began. “Mhm, you should see yourself. There have been many times when that fiery temper of yours has made me wish I could silence you… Maybe I’ll use this as punishment in future. I can’t see you being so insubordinate then - can you?”

“I’ll be good, Elder,” She’s babbling utter nonsense, but she is too far-gone by his delectable torture to care. “So good. I’ll never be bad again, I swear. Please. _Please,”_ she repeats, tightening a hand in his hair in an attempt to guide him closer.

“You’re stunning when you beg. You’re all flushed, and so wet for me… I wonder how long it will take for me to have you wishing you could scream my name. Do you think it will be minutes - or will you surprise me?”

“We-we’ll find out if you’d just let me _come,”_ She whines, untangling her hand in the sheets to toy with her abandoned breasts. The sight clearly distracts him, for he pauses his taunting - when Uri opens her eyes, he is staring at her thumb as it rolls the bud, sending shots of pleasure down to her clit that have her squirming in his hold. With that, Arthur positions her right leg around the back of his neck and gives an experimental lap of her lips. The motion sends a delighted shudder through her that has him chuckling.

Done with his teasing, Arthur finally begins by rocking his tongue against her bud, loving the way she squirms against him. He cannot help goading her left leg to join the right - finding that there’s nothing quite like having her strong thighs encompassing him as he strokes her with his mouth. It’s really not long before Uri is fighting for more friction - the softness of his tongue alone just not being enough to chase her orgasm.

“Arthur,” she rasps, “I need more.”

“Use your words, darling. What would you like me to do?”

“I want… I want you _in_ me, damnit. I want your cock to fill me up, I want to ride you so good that we both just forget-- _Please.”_

“I did want tonight to be about you,” He murmurs between kissing her thigh. Uri shakes her head.

“I want it to be about _us.”_

Well, he doesn’t need to be told twice. Not when his cock is straining against his flight suit, pressing pre-cum into his underwear. Arthur glides up her body to be pulled into a greedy kiss, full of pent-up frustration that he returns with fervour. Her hands battle his suit once more, and he helps peel it away until there are no barriers between them. She pushes at his shoulder, and Arthur rolls onto his back in kind. He would be lying if he claimed he was not slightly nervous about this position, but his nerves give way to desire as her thighs press against his waist. Uri’s hand closes around him, and then she strokes his tip through the hot wetness between her legs. He grinds his teeth so hard he is _sure_ he almost chips one of them, but then her lips are on his and she’s lowering herself onto him and she’s _so good_ he groans into her mouth and it becomes clear why she started the kiss in the first place.

If Delaney was surprised before, he’d have a field day at hearing _this._

“Uri,” he whispers, setting one hand on her waist so he can bring the other up to cup her cheek. Her eyes are closed in pleasure-pain, squeezed tight as her walls adjust to him inside her. Upon feeling his touch, her lids flutter open - revealing lust-clouded eyes that are simply mesmerising this close. God, he loves her. He loves her he loves her he loves--

“ _Oh_ , _”_ he grunts as she suddenly rocks against him, drawing back to steady herself with her palms splayed across his abdomen. Having her in control is completely different to their time in Sanctuary - she is much better at gaining a steady pace, but meeting her rocking with his thrusts proves to be a challenge. Uri certainly enjoys his efforts though, for she keens in delight every time their thrusts fall into harmony. He is strong enough to assist her using one hand, so he drops the other down to play with her clit.

“ _Fuck_ _,”_ Uri snaps, stuttering slightly as he rubs it the way she likes. Her brief pause allows him to shift them ever-so-slightly - just enough that his thrusts suddenly have her whining louder than before. He’s finally found the spot she wanted, and Uri suddenly has a much harder time maintaining control. Her arms buckle so she falls onto him, pressing her forehead against his as her eyes fly open. Blue meets auburn, their heady breaths mingle, and both of them find themselves unable to tear their gaze away.

“Beautiful,” He half-grunts between thrusting up into her. Uri is putty above him, but hasn’t yet finished. His own orgasm is not far off. He needs to switch their positions lest they end up in dangerous waters, so Arthur flips them and quickly picks up his pace once more. Uri’s cut-off moans turn into a high-pitched wail as she claws at his back, using her heels on his ass to draw him closer.

He draws back just in time; narrowly avoiding the flutter of her walls as her pleasure explodes. Arthur kisses her through her orgasm, holding her as she quivers and smothering her keening groans. She’s absolutely breathless - covered in sweat and blushing furiously, but that doesn’t stop her from taking him.in one of her slick hands. He’s still covered in her juices, so she jerks him off with ease.

“So good. Such a good boy. Come for me, Arthur.”

The praise surprises him, but not as much as how suddenly his orgasm tears through him in response. Arthur barely prevents himself from collapsing onto Uri as he thrusts into her eager palm. His kisses are messy as he thanks her, then he rolls onto his side, battling his hazy vision and burning lungs to greedily breathe in-and-out. 

“Praise kink,” Uri laughs breathlessly. Her head lolls to the side as she peers at him through hooded eyes. His entire body feels like jello - but he manages to snort.

“How embarrassing.”

“Your secret is safe with me, _Sir_ \- but don’t expect me to not exploit it when I’m backed into a corner.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being so naive,” he mutters, enjoying her responding laughter.

“Need another shower,” she croaks, but then Arthur is pulling her back to his chest and shaking his head. He manages to reach the box of tissues he keeps beside his bed, and begins cleaning their mess of of her.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers, kissing the shell of her ear. “Don’t leave me tonight.”

Whether she is emotionally ready or not, Uri cannot find it in herself to deny him this. His breaths soon slow, but he continues to press an occasional peck to whatever part of her is within reach until he has fallen asleep and, despite the horrors of tomorrow, Uri finds herself far too exhausted to not follow him.

\--

The Relay is nothing short of a mechanical monster. Three, spidery legs stand around the single platform, all of which are haphazardly linked to a makeshift dish and repurposed control panel. The parts are all hooked up to at least three post-war generators, off which sparks occasionally fly from the exposed collection of copper wiring. The scene juxtaposes with the soft hue of the morning sunrise, looking more like something out of _Frankenstein_ than the real-life teleporter that may or may not be about to kill her.

Uri is awestruck.

“Glad _someone_ appreciates this thing,” Ingram mumbles, standing beside her. “You ready for this?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, but I’m doing it.”

“Alright,” the Proctor’s voice softens. She almost looks like she wants to say something else… But then she moves to the controls, and Uri distracts herself by gazing into the growing crowd. They congregate around what had once been the entrance to Boston Airport. The last time Uri was here she had stood with Nora, Codsworth and Shaun. Nate was flying back from his honourable discharge in Anchorage; his wife had been so unstable since the injury, Uri had to drive just to make sure she didn’t crash on the way. Despite her current predicament, Uri’s mind's eye has her back in 2077. The Airport is still standing; business booming despite the resource war. Nora is cuddling her babbling son - pressing her button nose into the slight mattering of dark, fine hair on his head. It's something that she always did when she was nervous. Uri had that exact sinking feeling in her stomach, but she had placed a hand on Nora’s shoulder. The clouds left her eyes, and Uri smiled.

“It’s going to be okay. It all seems bad now, but life goes on… Nate can do this.” Uri stares up at the crackling machine, and her expression hardens. “ _I_ can do this.”

She doesn’t believe a word of it, but that’s unimportant. As long as she can force herself onto that platform then all will be well. Every logical part of her mind screams otherwise, but her survival instincts do not get a seat at this table. She could never live with herself if she refused her only opportunity to find Shaun. Better to be killed like this than die an elderly coward. She would never stop wondering what could have been.

Arthur is stood off to the side, oblivious to the nervous glances Ingram keeps throwing his way. His gaze is locked on the relay. The Elder’s stance is as prim and proper as always, but Uri can detect the tension he his carrying. She is about to offer him comfort when Proctor Quinlan nudges his way through the crowd.

“Knight Sanchez. I wish you the very best with your mission - but I have a proposition for you,” when he raises his hand, Uri spots the holotape pinched between two fingers. “I have placed a software on this tape that will gather as much intel off of the Institute’s mainframe as possible. Should you find a terminal, all you would have to do is accept the scan request and wait until it states that the scan has been completed. Understood?”

“Yes,” Uri takes the tape with grace. “Thank you, Proctor. I will do everything in my power to return with some info.” Maybe collecting some prime intel will get Uri in his good books… Though, as he stalks off in the general direction of the airbus, she doubts it.

It doesn’t matter. As soon as Arthur settles his hand on her shoulder, all thoughts of Quinlan disappear. The final Maxson is doing a great job of playing Elder, having schooled his expression into something akin to his usual power-glower. But, this close, she can see the heaviness in his eyes… It must be taking every ounce of his being to not order her away from the platform. But he doesn’t. Instead, he forces himself to almost smile.

“Are you ready to put this to the test?”

“As ready as any pre-war gal who has been winging every step in her deadly, broken home can be.”

“Alright,” His smile falters at her poor attempt at a joke. Right. Bad timing. “This is the first time that we have attempted to directly adapt Institute technology. When we throw that switch, we don’t know exactly what’s going to happen. God willing, you’ll end up inside the Institute and the mission can continue… Once you get in there, we expect that we will lose contact. I have instructions for you, so it is imperative that you remember what I’m about to say.”

“Yes, sir.” She wants to ask what instructions he’d have aside from not dying, but Arthur is so high-strung that it would be unfair of her to start using poor humour as a coping mechanism. So she ignores the adrenaline thrumming through her veins, and listens.

“About ten years ago, the Brotherhood began recruiting civilian scientists from the Capital Wasteland to assist with various projects. During this process, we were able to obtain the services of Doctor Madison Li, a noted mind in the field of nuclear engineering. Her contributions to our cause were instrumental in maintaining order in the Capital Wasteland. After some time, she developed differences with the Brotherhood and exiled herself to the Commonwealth. We’re fairly certain that her intent was to make contact with the Institute--” 

Since mentioning the development of differences, Arthur has met her eyes less. Uri is fairly confident that he’s going to ask her to find the rogue scientist, so she holds up a hand to cut him off.

“What kind of differences are we talking about, here?”

“Although she worked with us, she never officially joined as a scribe… after the Capital Wasteland was secured, she objected to the Brotherhood’s continued military presence there. I think she assumed that we would just walk away from it all. She was wrong. Anyway, I digress. Your mission is simple. Once you’re inside the Institute, we want you to track down Madison Li’s whereabouts. If you find out that she’s still alive, make contact with her and convince her to return to the Brotherhood. There’s a special project we're working on, and it needs her attention.”

Uri folds her arms; amber eyes narrow dangerously. “What happens if she refuses, _Elder?”_

“Do not do anything that would provoke a hostile response,” he grinds out, feeling a flash of anger as she snorts. “ _If_ she refuses, you’re not to press the issue. Remember our larger goal.”

“This isn’t over,” she says, lowering her voice. Arthur has never seen Uri as angry as she was at Greentech, but she comes close to it now… Her hands quiver as she balls them into fists, whilst her eyes dance with malicious words that will be left unspoken for the time being. He had feared this response - had tried his best to word it kindly. Contrary to her beliefs, he is no fool. Sadly, he was not alone in feeling that re-recruiting Li was their best option. It’s purely tactical - nothing more, nothing less.

“Of course, Sir. I will do everything in my power to bring the doctor back safely.”

Uri’s emotions always outweigh her logic. It’s not something he will be able to tip-toe around forever. Nonetheless, the cold look in her eyes has his chest tightening. Until her last statement, their voices lowered to such a degree that their brothers and sisters in arms fell into silence; enraptured with attempting to hear every fragment of their conversation.

Arthur is aware that breaking protocol could have profound consequences on his position as Elder, but he can’t leave it like this. She looks like she wants to whack him around the head with _Buster_. It’s not the last image he wants of her, if something _should_ happen…

So he reaches for her hand.

“You’re risking your life, going into the Institute blind… As you’ve likely deduced, I would give _anything_ to stop you. But I know how much this means to you. I know we have a lot to discuss. I just…” He has to swallow back the thickness in his voice. He can’t meet her eyes. His gaze lingers on their hands, watching as his thumb glides across her knuckles. It shakes under the weight of his feelings for her and, suddenly, the words fall from his lips in a hurried whisper.

“I love you, Uri. I can’t lose you this way.”

He’s right: they do have a lot to talk about. She is still angry, and these new orders regarding Doctor Li have done nothing to help that. The conflicting feelings Arthur Maxson stirs within her are positively maddening. Uri knows that she cannot go on like this forever. It’s heartbreaking and infuriating. Of _course_ he decides to drop this on her now. It was spoken so quietly that the others stir when she raises her hands to cup his cheeks in her palms. She tilts his face upward, forcing him to look at her, and smiles that exact smile she offered Nora all those years ago.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy… I need to be able to say it back.”

His initial tenderness was unexpected by Uri, so she’s positively blindsided by having him scoop her into his arms. Their lips meet in a kiss so full of adoration that her chest coils as the air is knocked from her lungs. After a moment he releases her, and suddenly his stance screams _commander_.

“Good luck, Knight,” he smiles wanly, then brings his hand to his chest in a salute. Despite their gobsmacked expressions, the soldiers around them are quick to copy the expression.

“Ad Victoriam,” Uri whispers, placing a palm over his clenched fist and giving it a squeeze. Then she is on the platform. Ingram is barking information that is probably important her way, but Uri cannot think about that. Not when she is so close to finding Shaun. Not when this could be the last time she ever sees her infuriatingly beautiful Elder.

Just as the Relay picks up that all-important signal, the vault dweller cannot help but feel glad that she’s unable to breathe. She’s fairly certain that Ingram mentioned you need to hold your breath during teleportation some days ago… As a bright flash blindsides the Knight, she is grateful that her fear has kept her frozen in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone!
> 
> I just want to take a second to thank every single one of you for reading this. This year has been full of craziness (looking at you, Manchester attack) and writing this fic has been a huge help for me. I'm so glad I'm able to share it, and that people enjoy reading it (and love the trash heap that is Arthur Maxson as much as I do!) I hope you have the best of festivities, and that the new year is great for you all!!


	18. Heartaches by the Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¡Hola desde españa y feliz año nuevo! 
> 
> I've been on holiday (in Spain if you hadn't guessed) since the 30th Dec, but I am still here with another chapter for you all. enjoy :)

When the bright light resides, Uri is keeled over on the ground. The throbbing in her temple is unlike anything she has ever experienced - a mix between a migraine and intense nausea that has her dry-heaving as she curls in on herself. She needs to get up. If she is alive, then she is in the Institute… the most dangerous place in the Commonwealth. Having them put her down as she battles the after-effects of being pulled apart and put back together would be the _worst._

Miraculously, she manages to battle her way onto her feet. The cold, hard press of the ground beneath her sweaty palms feels a lot like steel, which it is confirmed to be when her vision stops swimming enough for her to take in the pure, metallic grey. It dawns on her that there is not a speck of rust. Not even the Prydwen - which is a recent build in comparison to most - is this pristine.

She has arrived in a perfectly circular room. The walls are covered with towering machinery; the lights on which flash an array of orange and red. It’s as though, somewhere, someone is being warned that the relay has gone horribly wrong - but there is no siren in her immediate vicinity. In fact, all she can hear is the soft thrum of engines.

There is not a being in sight. Human or synth.

There is, however, an open archway ahead of her, so she presses on. The warm hue of the other room is lost as bright, white lights beam down from the ceiling above, and she has to pause again to allow her eyes to adjust to the onslaught. This room is just as pristine as the last, though a control panel complete with a terminal sits before her. Remembering the tape, Uri quickly fumbles through her belt pockets until she finds it. The holotape clicks into place, and her job is made easier as she finds that the terminal has been left unlocked. There are a handful of entries regarding the use of the relay, but she ignores those in favour of running Quinlan’s decryption programme. Once the scan request has been accepted, she is instructed to wait.

Uri takes this opportunity to drink in more of her surroundings. She can hardly believe how _clean_ it is in here. And the technology… it’s both familiar-yet-alien. It had never dawned on Uri that the Institute would have been able to hide away from the ruins of nuclear warfare; but here they are. She pauses at a nearby chest of drawers, eyeing the gleaming white medikit sat there. Have they developed better medicines they’ve not felt inclined to share, perhaps? Curious, she lifts a hand to the latch.

“Hello.”

 _“Shit!”_ She yelps, drawing away from the box as though it’s a live wire. Her gaze darts around the room, but she is still alone. It’s not until the voice returns that she notices the speakers hanging at the edge of the room.

“I wondered if you might make it here. You’re quite resourceful… I am known as Father; the Institute is under my guidance.”

“I don’t give a damn _who_ you are!” Uri chokes. Her hands are shaking as she stumbles over to the terminal. The decryption is complete, so she fights to eject the tape as she speaks. “I want Shaun! Give me Shaun!”

“I would like to discuss things with you face-to-face,” the voice says - noticeably old and male, and much calmer than her own. “Please, step in the elevator.”

As soon as he politely commands her to do so, there is a hissing sound from somewhere in the room ahead. Stood at the back of this room is a cylindrical, glass elevator. The hiss she heard was clearly the door gliding open, beckoning her forward. Uri _really_ doesn’t like this. The man who calls himself Father has been _expecting_ her? She makes another trip up the steps she came down to attempt to get back to the relay, but she arrives to find that the door is now closed. The Knight’s heart pounds in her ears, but she has no other option than to do what the man tells her. Feeling like nothing more than a pawn, she finally steps into the elevator. That hissing sound returns as it encloses her - trapping her in a space far too small and _oh God_ it’s the vault all over again--

“I can only imagine what you’ve heard,” the voice croons. “What you think of us. I’d like to show you that you may have… the wrong impression. Welcome to the Institute.”

The blackness that encompassed the elevator pulls away. Like a magician’s grand reveal, light slowly lifts through the glass until Uri is surrounded by a place far unlike _anything_ she could have imagined. Judging by the open space, she assumes that this is the atrium-of-sorts. An array of lights are built in to the ceiling above, which _must_ mimic the time of day on the outside world. Buildings stretch up into their makeshift sky, including balconies adorned with personal belongings, tube-like walkways made out of steel and glass… and on the ground. Fresh green grass and perfectly kept trees, clean water flowing underneath pristine bridges; doubling up as water features beside each staircase in sight. Her first thought is that she’s in some sort of spaceship. But space doesn’t have water… So they must be underground. There’s no other explanation. The lights, the gravity, the water…

“This is the reality of the Institute. This place, the people, the work we do. For over a hundred years, we’ve dedicated ourselves to humanity’s survival.”

And there they are. People. _Lots_ of people, ranging from old to young just like _her_ world had. Children chase each other around the patches of grass, the elderly huddle beside fountains, a trio of middle-aged women stride down a glass corridor with purpose, a young man jogs up to them with a stack of folders in his grasp.

“Decades of research, countless experiments and trials… A shared vision of how science can help shape the future. It has never been easy, and our actions are often misinterpreted by those above ground.”

As he says this, she sinks lower, and the open world above her is replaced by layers of steel. Her stomach churns as anxiety sets in.

“Someday, perhaps, we can show them what we’ve accomplished. But, for now, we must remain underground.”

The elevator comes to a stop. Uri is now facing a long, winding corridor, which she assumes she is supposed to make her way down.

“There’s too much at stake to risk it all. As you’ve seen, things above are… unstable. I’d like to talk to you about what we can do… for everyone.”

Eventually she reaches another elevator; much smaller and more closed-in than the one before. Uri makes an attempt at a deep breath and steps inside.

“But that can wait. You are here for a specific, very personal reason. You are here for your brother.”

By the time she reaches the elevator’s designated floor, she feels sick with nerves. A combination of fear for her life and her muddled emotions for Shaun have morphed into a cocktail of pure dread - so much so that it takes her a moment of staring at the flickering control board to her left to realise that she can enter the room ahead.

It’s clearly a laboratory of sorts; empty aside from a desk, clipboard, some unfamiliar-looking tools and an observation cell. Under different circumstances, this may remind Uri of what she found in Med-Tek. But not today. Not now. Not when, as soon as her gaze falls to the boy inside, her knees give out.

“Oh my God,” she wheezes, falling to the ground. _Buster_ falls forgotten at her side as quaking hands press against cool glass. The child turns away from the microscope he had been tinkering with, and eyes exactly like Nora’s narrow inquisitively. Not wanting to scare him, Uri forces herself to catch her breath. “Shaun… Is that you?”

“Yes, I’m Shaun,” he nods politely. The boy looks increasingly worried, but he does not let that get in the way of his manners. Just like his Pa.

“I can’t… I… it’s really _you_?"

“Who _are_ you?”

Tears stream down her cheeks at the question. Of course. Of course he doesn’t know who she is. Why would he? He was taken. Stolen away. Nothing more than an infant. He won’t know who she is, nor his mother, nor his father…

“Shaun, I-it’s me, I’m your _sister_. Kinda. I’ll explain everything later, cariño, but I need you to open this door for me, okay?”

“Father!” He yelps, suddenly jumping to his feet. “What’s going on? What’s _happening?”_

“Those bastards - they killed your father. But I’m here, and I’m going to get you out of there.”

“What’s going ON? FATHER? _FATHER?”_

“P-please don’t panic, I’m here to save you,” Uri blubbers, pressing a tear-stained cheek to the glass. She’s messing this up. She’s doing it all wrong. She’s said something stupid. She must have. Nate and Nora would know what to say; what to do. She slides over to the door and begins hitting it with _Buster’s_ hilt, but it won’t budge.

“I don’t _know you!”_ Shaun hisses, “go _away!_ Father? Father help me! There’s someone here! Help me!"

“Who _is_ Father?” Uri snaps. The door may not budge, but the glass might. With all the strength she’s gained over the course of her time in the wasteland, Uri bashes Shaun’s prison. Once. Twice. Five times - ten. She doesn’t even leave a crack. Her rifle creaks and groans, and the nails are dangerously close to falling out of a number of Danse’s modifications. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. She’s sobbing roughly as she continues to fight.

“FATHER! SHE’S TRYING TO TAKE ME!"

She’s cut her hands with the force of her grasp. Blood pools from the welts left behind, staining the semi-rusted metal of the grip. Her hits are becoming weaker, but she is not yet willing to accept defeat. That’s when she notices him; the elderly man that has stepped through the door situated beside Shaun’s cell.

“Shaun!” He barks, and Uri recognises his as the voice talking to her over the loudspeakers. “S9-23, recall code sirrus.”

With that, Shaun stops shaking. The fear leaves his eyes, his features fall into a neutral expression, and his shoulders slump as he sags in on himself. Still on his feet, but entirely unmoving.

Uri screams, and raises her gun.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM, YOU BASTARD? WHAT DID YOU _DO?”_

The stranger gestures to the gun in a lazy manner. “Please, there is no need for that. I will answer any and all questions you may have…” He turns to look at Shaun with puckered lips and downcast eyes. “Fascinating, but disappointing. The child’s responses were not at all what I anticipated. He’s a prototype, you understand. We’re only now just beginning to explore the effects of extreme emotional stimuli.”

The sound of _Buster’s_ safety clicking off distracts him from his spiel. Before, he had been uninterested. Now, he raises his hands and clenches his jaw.

“ _Please_ , do try to keep an open mind. I recognise that you are emotional, and that your journey here has been fraught with challenges. Let’s start anew. I am Father,” He raises a hand to his chest, very much like a teacher would a pre-school toddler. “Welcome to the Institute.”

“I don’t _care_!” She shrieks, “Give me Shaun _right now,_ or I swear to _God_ I’ll kill you!”

“I know, I know… You’ve gone to such lengths to find him--”

“Stop _patronising_ me. Give me my _brother!”_

“I will give you the answers you desire, but I _must_ ask you to put the gun down. This situation is far more complicated than you could have imagined--”

Uri feels positively feral as she pushes the beam focuser into the centre of the man’s chest. Panic _finally_ enters his eyes; obliterating his patronisingly calm demeanour.

“Last chance, assho-- ow!”

The familiar burn of Med-X begins to spread through Uri’s shoulder, and her attacker takes the opportunity to snatch _Buster_ away. She spins on her heels with fists raised, but is only able to catch them in the jaw before her body begins to feel like jello. Her own screams sound distant, but the scratch of her throat confirms that the sounds are of her making. Her vision blurs. She’s being placed onto something comfortable, and it’s not long until - despite all her efforts - she is giving into the unknown.

\--

She wakes feeling as though she never slept, but she is too thirsty for that. After she has found water, she will sleep for as long as she pleases. Fuck Arthur and his orders, Ingram calling for her to help with some old frames or Quinlan begrudgingly asking for her pre-war expertise to decrypt blueprints...

Everything floods back to her as soon as she opens her eyes. Her surroundings are too bright. Too clean. This isn’t the Prydwen, with its flickering bulbs and darkened steel. This is the Institute. She had threatened Father’s life if they didn’t hand over Shaun, and so they drugged her.

Uri does not bother to take in her surroundings. A quick sweep of the room confirms that Father is still present. He is stood at the foot of her bed, talking with a spritely blonde dressed in similar, clinical get-up unlike anything she has ever seen before. It strikes her that the odd tools and clothing are a what-could-have-been, if not for the nukes… The thought has her pausing as she meets Father’s steely gaze. His expression reminds her of Nora’s disapproving glare… He even has the same, green eyes.

“Ah, you are awake. Good. I do hope you will forgive the sedation, but we are quite unable to predict your behaviour. Since you left the vault, you have done nothing if not surprise us.”

“You… saw me leave the vault?”

“Of course,” his smile is full of arrogant haughtiness. This has her skin crawling as he adds: “I orchestrated it.”

Uri’s mind is still sluggish, so this takes a moment to settle in. In between his admission and her awaited response, the Knight discovers that she has been strapped down to her bed. When his words hit home, her head snaps up.

“You did _what?”_

“I was curious, you see. Would you, after all this time, still try to find their son? We hadn’t known until you resurfaced of Vault-Tec’s mistake. The files were merely glossed over, the first time. All we cared about was the child… And then, as the vault elevator rose again, out you came. A woman no more than a child, an entirely different race and age than the woman we expected. It was a pity, I must admit… But then you set out to the wastes - surviving whatever ills came your way. I had to know more. You knew the boy, and you searched with as much fervour as a parent looking for their son. Fascinating.”

“Yeah? Well, if you’re quite finished reviewing your disgusting experiment, I think I’m due my reward. Where. Is. Shaun?”

Uri can only imagine how wild she looks; restrained, teeth-bared and glowering at the man towering above her. His expression shifts from impassioned to… almost sad. At least, Uri thinks it’s sad. She doesn’t want to label it as such, however. Considering what assholes these guys have already turned out to be. She’d be surprised if the whole lot of them didn’t turn out to be emotionless synths.

“You have travelled very far, Miss Sanchez. Suffered a great deal to find the child you consider a sibling… Well, your tenacity and dedication has been rewarded.”

Father takes a step closer to her bedside, and places a hand over her own.

“It’s good to finally meet you. It’s _me._ I _am_ Shaun. I am their son.”

Uri stares.

She must have misheard him. Surely he said something else. Shaun is _ten_. Shaun is a vulnerable child; scooped up by the vulture that is the Institute. Uri is here to rescue him. Rescue him for the parents that will never get the chance.

“That’s a sick joke if I ever heard one.”

“It is no joke, I assure you.” Father shakes his head. “In the vault you had no concept of the passage of time. You were released from your pod on my orders, and went searching for a stolen infant. But then you learned that Shaun was no longer an infant, but a ten-year-old boy. You believed that ten years had passed. Is it really so hard to accept that it was not ten, but _sixty_ years? That is the reality… And here I am, raised by the Institute, now its leader.”

Uri wants to argue, but she cannot catch her breath. Because the look he just gave her was a carbon copy of Nate’s ‘you’re being completely ridiculous’ expression. Only, instead of deep brown, Father’s eyes are green.

Exactly like Nora’s.

And there was that look of disapproval before. The one Nora used to give.

_No._

“They stole you!” She finally manages to choke, “ _Kidnapped you._ It wasn’t right!”

“Right and wrong are irrelevant. It was necessary. The Institute believed humanity’s future depended on it. At that time, the year 2227, the Institute had made great strides in synth production. But it was never enough. Scientific curiosity, and the goal of perfection, drove them ever onward. What they wanted was the perfect machine. So, they followed the best example thus far - the human being. Walking, talking, fully articulate. Capable of anything.”

“Stop,” she begs, but her voice is lost to the lump in her throat. There’s an impassioned light in his eye as he goes on.

“The Institute endeavoured to create synthetic organics. The most logical starting point, of course, was human DNA. Plenty of that was available, of course, but it had become corrupted. In this wasteland, radiation affected everyone. Even in their attempts to shield themselves from the world above, members of the Institute had been exposed. Another source was necessary. Then the Institute found me, after discovering records of vault one-eleven. An infant, frozen in time, protected from the radiation-induced mutations that had crept into every other human cell in the Commonwealth. I was exactly what they needed, and so it was my DNA that became the basis of the synthetic organics used to create every human-like synth you see today. I am their Father. Through science, we are family.”

“No!” She growls, finally capturing his attention. Her eyes are ablaze. “You _had_ a family. A mother and father who _loved you._ And they _killed_ them.”

“It was no coincidence that you path crossed that of Kellogg’s. It wasn’t until I became Director that I learned of all the things he’d done… The kind of man he was. It seemed a fitting way to allow you… _us_ … to have some amount of revenge.”

“You knew that he _murdered_ your papa! And you continued to _employ him?_ Then used me as your fucking _garbage_ disposal when you decided enough was _enough?”_

“Please--”

“NO! Don’t you _dare_ try to explain it away! They shot Nate, they asphyxiated your mother! _They were supposed to asphyxiate me_ , and you’re _defending_ them!?”

“There _is_ no ‘them’ and ‘I’ - can’t you _see?_ I _am_ the Institute, as the Institute is I. I was an infant with no parents. I did not know them. I was never able to form the attachments you shared -- and I was under the impression that you wanted Kellogg dead, so do tell me if I was wrong?”

“Don’t act like you care about anything I want! You’ve just told me that dumping me into this hellhole was nothing but a pet project for you!” Uri suddenly lashes against the bindings at her ankles and wrists - cursing when her joints protest against the unusual twists and turns. “Let me out! Get me out! I don’t want this, I don’t want any of it, I want to go _home._ Let me leave, let me _LEAVE!”_

“If you leave, I will not authorise your return. You will be considered hostile to any synths that you encounter. Please, Uri. Do try to be rational about this.”

If her state of mind was not in tatters, Uri would reprimand his continued use of that patronising tone. The man standing over her may have Nate’s face and Nora’s eyes, but he does not possess an ounce of their empathy - their kindness, good will or compassion. She may as well have travelled _back_ in time, for loss is becoming all too familiar to her now. Her past is unfailingly repetitive. Except this time, it _is_ different. This isn’t losing a parent to death. It feels like death - only the stranger called Shaun is the most tangible ghost she has ever seen. Still present, but lost to her no matter what. She was too late.

She was too late.

“I’m so sorry. I failed you. I failed _them._ I’m so sorry.”

Even as his expression remains impassive, she cannot shake the aching emptiness. He says nothing. He just looks frustrated, and she begins to wonder if he had her kill off Kellogg so she could take on a new role in his sick game. No matter. Now she knows the story, she is far from willing to play. Her voice cracks as she speaks.

“Get me out of here.”

Leaving the Institute is jarring; akin to a clinical procedure, and Uri wonders if this is how they disposed of Nick once they were done with him. Shaun is replaced by a gen-two synth, which orders her to follow it back the way she came. It watches her trembling form with the same emptiness Shaun had, though it doesn’t tell her to be rational. That feels like a kindness in itself.

“Where would you like to go?” It asks. Uri turns to it with a blank expression. She doesn’t know. She wants to go home, but home is dead. Home is empty. She came to realise this wasn’t a nightmare too long ago to begin questioning that again now.

“Goodneighbor.”

A flash like lightning striking the exact spot she occupies. Pain. Nausea. She expects it all this time around, but part of her is grateful that she will never have to experience it again. Uri allows herself to vomit on the piss-stained sidewalk before standing to full height. By some unfortunate-yet-blessed miracle, they’ve dumped her mere feet away from Hancock himself. From the look on the ghoul’s face, he knows exactly where she’s been.

He doesn’t remind her that he banned her from his town. Instead, he ushers her into the Third Rail with a somber smile and a wave of an old packet of Lucky Strikes; a sinful promise that she desperately needs to act upon. Because god forbid she thinks. Not for a second. Not about Shaun, nor Nate and Nora. Definitely not about Arthur, or how she has failed to carry out his orders. And not about the Institute.

 _Never_ about the Institute.


	19. Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: themes of depression and mention of suicidal thoughts in this chapter, as to be expected.

Such a beautiful sunrise doesn’t belong amongst the wreckage of the old world. The hues of dusty pink and burnt orange are positively dazzling; it does nothing but highlight the crumbling mess of Scollay Square. But, my, is it beautiful. Hancock stares outward - his chem-dazed eyes tracing the place where old colours end and new begin. He has dragged out one of the old loveseats from his office. Add his used chem canisters to the lack of room, and Uri cannot see a place to stand. Not that it matters. She isn’t confident her legs could carry her right now. Below, the last dregs of visiting drifters make their way out the mayor’s bar. Blown-out eyes scour for spare mattresses to sleep the morning hours away. Some of them stumble in zagged lines; others jump at every small sound the wasteland makes, from distant gunfire to random coughs.

She doesn’t understand how everything keeps _moving._ How can they carry on when the world has shifted? Just breathing is exerting copious effort on her behalf - so how is that ragged-looking ghoul inhaling jet? How is that guard laughing at whatever joke the other just told? Humour isn’t an option anymore. _Going on_ isn’t an option anymore. Rather, it doesn’t feel like one.

Maybe it’s because they don’t understand. Most of those Uri has met were born into this mockery of her world. No one else had to wake up two-hundred years later. Sink down from a world of bustling streets and arise to bleak nothingness. Her awakening from cryo sleep is a sick form of rebirth. Nothing like the movies used to be. When _they_ got thrust into uncharted territories, they always came out better people.

Stupid fucking old world optimism. Uri is too tired to feel rage, but she tosses an empty jet inhaler off the balcony for good measure. Hancock watches it fall, but says nothing. There’s a moment of shuffling, and then he’s pushing a bottle of Gwinnett Stout into her hand. It tastes like piss, but she gulps it all the same. It does nothing to rid her of the gruelling bitterness, but it clouds her mind enough to dampen her mood. It’s what she needs.

So, the fucking old-world hero arose with a mission. She hadn’t really considered failure. Failure wasn’t a notion 2077 was familiar with, so it shouldn’t come as any surprise. For a pessimist, she was awfully hopeful that she’d save the day… God, who did she think she was? When has she _ever_ got anything right? She can’t even pick people right. Everyone has gone and died on her, and the _one_ fucker who didn’t is a goddamn psychopath. A sob lodges its way in her throat as her breathing hastens. Those eyes, so like Nora’s. She was such a good person. Fuck everyone who told her otherwise. Nuclear war was inevitable. Uri could hardly blame her for going into defence. Much more money in it than backing up cheated soldiers.

And Nate. The typical all-American, with his butter-wouldn’t-melt smile and eyes sweet as apple pie. He was _so_ dedicated to his country - completely devoted to the US cause, despite its flaws. That faded after Anchorage. He never really told her what he saw, but he came back a changed man. Terrified for his family; for his country’s future. He was due to speak the day the bombs dropped. The decorated veteran arguing that the war needed to end… All Shaun got from his father was his face. Goddamn apathetic warmonger that he grew up to be.

But she cannot feel resentment. Not really. Instead, guilt bubbles like battery acid in her chest. It’s her fault this happened. If only she had got there sooner, or if she hadn’t gone in the damn vault in the first place… She could’ve died with her uncle. Not had to worry about _any_ of this. If she had, this god awful self-hatred wouldn’t be eating her alive.

“Doin’ some real hard thinking there, Sister.” Hancock tries to pass off the comment as lazy, but Uri can detect the worry in the pinch where his eyebrows once were. She just shrugs, then plucks the cigarette from his fingers. It tastes old and bitter, but the smoke feels like sandpaper on a rough wood edge as it smoothes down the ache in her throat. Forces her to cough the sobs away.

“I need to see Daisy,” she rasps. The holotape weighing down her coat pocket feels accusatory, and that only worsens as the hours pass by. Uri hands him back his cigarette and kicks jet inhalers out the way of her feet. “You sure it’s alright for me to stay?”

“So long as you don’t attract those bucketheads,” Hancock nods. “Though they flock to you like flies on brahmin shit - no offence.”

“None taken,” she mutters, eyeing the sky once more. She’ll have to leave her location out the note she intends to send Arthur. Knowing him, he’ll have vertibirds scouring the wastes the second he knows she’s out of the Institute. At least she’ll know the holotape has reached him safely.

Daisy is just setting up shop when Uri arrives. The ghoul beams brightly upon noticing her, but her joy sinks as she takes in the exhausted look on her face. Uri has not looked in any mirrors since leaving Shaun behind, but from how long she spent crying she’s certain she looks like hell.

“You taken a little too much jet, kiddo?” Daisy asks. Yet another person attempting to feign their usual, casual nature. It’s wearing thin fast.

“You got anything to write with?” She asks, ignoring her question. “I’ve got a package to send. Gonna need a human, though. It’s for the Brotherhood.”

“You crazy?” The ghoul balks, “My guys ain’t gonna step foot near that blimp! You’re the only one I know who’s got anywhere near those bastards as it is.”

“Elder Maxson will pay handsomely, Daisy. This is crazy important for them. Trust me, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t life-or-death.”

“You best not be lying to me!” She waves an agitated finger her way, but soon procures writing instruments from one of the store’s old boxes. Uri wraps the tape and note in an old cloth, and write’s Arthur’s title on the fabric.

“Here. Tell them it’s for Elder Maxson, from Knight Sanchez. If it doesn’t get there I’ll know, so no funny business. Deliver it to the guys in power armour at the old airport entrance. They’ll make sure he gets it.”

\--

“Freeze, civilian!”

The prospector glares sourly at the miniguns pointed his way, and makes a show of spitting on the ground.

“Got a message for your Elder. Told it’s from Knight Sanchez, and for his eyes only.”

He begins shuffling through his pack, but one of the soldiers is quick to raise their weapon further.

“I said _freeze!_ If what you’re saying is true, we will procure the message ourselves. Stay where you are.”

The prospector is considering whether is damn job is worth the money he’s been promised when two, less-armoured soldiers walk his way. They begin going through the pack on his back, and he grinds his teeth to stop from shoving them away.

“Got it!” One of them shouts, unfastening the string - presumably to check that the thing’s safe. That’s when a larger guy strides past the security guards. This one wears a big, leather coat that has the prospector drooling. Man, he’d make a _fortune_ off that thing.

“I believe Knight Sanchez has been in touch?” He barks, and his lapdogs snap to attention.

“Yes, sir. The civilian claims she has sent this to be delivered to you only.”

He takes the package with suspicion, but that soon melts from his eyes as he spots the holotape. His look of surprise is fleeting as, a moment later, he’s grinding his teeth. Something about that note has put the guy on edge. The prospector wishes he’d read it when he had the chance.

“Tusk, contact Captain Kells! I want every vertibird in the near vicinity on notice. Dayes, see to it that this courier is paid. You will need to contact Proctor Teagan…” The man pauses, lifting the tape up to allow the sun to hit it. Then, he turns to his left. “Reynold, contact Proctor Quinlan immediately. He is going to want to know about this.”

\--

“If you ain’t off our doorstep in the next five seconds, I’m gonna have to use my shotgun. That shiny bucket o’bolts ain’t gonna live up to your overlord’s expectations no more.”

“ _Please,_ I have offered up my weapons and armour until I leave. I know she is here. Just… Give me ten minutes with her, and you will not have to worry about--”

“What’s goin’ on out here?”

That ghoul in the red frock coat nudges his way out the town’s makeshift gate, rubbing his eyes with one hand whilst nursing a cigarette with the other. The ruckus has clearly woke him from his midday slumber… Danse grinds his teeth and focuses on _not_ balling his hands into fists.

“Mayor Hancock,” He nods. “I know that you demanded the Brotherhood stay out of Goodneighbor, and we have lived up to that so far. But Elder Maxson has almost every vertibird out looking for her. No settlement knows where she is-- look, I know she’s here. Please, let me see her.”

“She’s not in any sorta mood for visitors,” Hancock rasps, smoke spilling from his skinless lips.

“I gathered as much, but it’s either this or having Elder Maxson force his way in once he _too_ realises where she’s hiding.”

“You mean, the bucketlord doesn’t _know?_ As in, his goody-tin-can Paladin ain’t told him?”

“No,” Danse huffs. “As I said - I gathered she was not in the mood for visitors, but I feel that I may be of assistance.”

“Jesus _fuck,_ ” Hancock lets the cigarette drop, and makes a show of crushing it under his boot. “Alright, fine. Boys, keep an eye on his shit - it goes missin’ and there’ll be trouble.” The watch guards nod and do as they’re told, though they look positively sour about it. Danse disengages his armour and steps out, feeling extremely exposed as he twists the fusion core out of its socket. He wears no protective gear under his power armour; just his standard flight suit and hood, which he removes now.

Hancock leads him up a rotting, spiral staircase to a makeshift kitchen-stroke-dining room. The dull, cloud-covered sun streaming through boarded windows is the only form of light, but once the Paladin’s eyes adjust he spots Uri. She is sat on one of the couches, flicking bottlecaps off the  coffee table in front of her. Her mussed hair sticks to her head with grease. Dark circles and gaunt cheeks complete the withered look… She’s wearing old jeans and a once-white t-shirt, and a blanket has been draped over her shoulders. It hangs off the arm she’s using to attack the caps. This leads Danse to believe that she was not the one to ask for it.

He has suffered many heartbreaking sights in the wasteland, but seeing Uri in such a state is like a knife to the gut. Breathless, he strides over and sits at her side.

“Uri,” He forces his voice to remain stable, and fixes the blanket’s positioning. She reeks of booze, and it knocks the soldier out of him. Danse pulls her into a hug, almost blanching at the smell of her. Uri does not respond with words, but he can feel the dampness of her tears seeping into the collar of his uniform.

He loses count of how long they stay that way. Hancock ushers his overly suspicious bodyguard out the room. For that, the Paladin is grateful. Eventually Uri’s grip on his suit lessens, and Danse draws her hand away so he can get up to close the door.

“Come here,” he murmurs, and she looks at him. He’s unsure of how Goodneighbor, of all places, has running water - but he is filling the sink and rummaging through cupboards for soap, and Uri is too tired to argue. Her legs wobble as she goes to him. He has to sit her on the counter and help her out of her clothes but, eventually, he is able to start scrubbing the layers of dirt and grime from her skin.

Grief claws at his throat as though it’s his own. Never did he expect to find Uri like _this_. The irritating little vault dweller he knows is so… alive. She always has something to say. A quick, witty one-liner to deal with the worst of circumstances. If you told him a week ago that he would be stripwashing her in a Goodneighbor sink, he would have scoffed. But here they sit with his hands massaging soap into her hair. He pauses to hunt for a comb, and all the while she makes no attempt to continue his work. She merely allows him to guide her - as though venturing through a thick fog. Her eyes are glazed over. She’s drunk, and entirely not present.

“Did she take anything?” He asks, forgetting to be rude to the trash-town’s mayor. Uri is clean and re-clothed in a summer dress from Daisy’s Discounts. Once Danse explained the state she was in, the ghoul let him have the clothing free of charge. She may be the only one he’s ever wanted to tolerate. But that is unimportant now. Hancock finishes yet another load of jet, then shakes his head.

“Nada, Brother. Not that anyone’s stopping her… No, she’s not had chems. Vodka, though. Lots of it. Keep tryna get some food in her, but she won’t touch it. All she does is drink, stare at the walls or sleep.”

Danse swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Do you… Has she told you what happened? Where she has been?”

“Not a word, but she just sorta appeared on the street like a bolt of lightning. Don't take a genius to realise she’d finally got to the Institute. She’s been this way since half a day after getting here. She had a smoke, visited Daisy, then came back. Has only moved since to piss and get more alcohol. She sleeps on the couch.”

“And you just _let her?”_ seethes the Paladin, “You left her to sit in filth, haven’t fed her and haven’t _asked_ her to talk about it?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Hive Mind, _we_ let people get on with their lives in whatever way they see fit. I wasn’t about to let her kill herself, but have ya considered that this might be why she is here and not on your brat’s overcompensating air balloon?”

“Disrespect Elder Maxson _one_ more time - I _dare_ you!”

“Danse?”

The angry glowers and heavy breathing of the strung-up men disappear. Giving way to concern. Danse does not pause to see what Hancock does. He paces into the other room, where Uri has pulled the blanket over herself. Her hair is still slightly damp, but she seems to have smoothed it down on her own.

She’s glaring at him, and the figure at his back.

“Play nicely,” she croaks, then looks at Danse and pats the empty space beside her. The Paladin purses his lips but says no more - ignoring the ghoul and taking a seat beside her. Uri curls into his side instantly, encouraging him to hold her close as she rests her cheek on his chest.

She is asleep in no time at all.

\--

Arthur’s arms ache by the time Ingram pries him away from his makeshift punch bag. Sand is pouring from the seams, but in his distracted state the Elder hadn't notice. They are in a half-standing room at the airport, occupied by nothing more than bags of the same stature and a combat ring in the centre. Lighting is provided by aged construction stands; the brightness of which burn his tired eyes.

“Arthur,” Ingram snaps. It reminds him of his childhood, back in training when he got too cocky with his rifle. The memory is what draws his eyes to hers. The irritated glare she’s wearing softens slightly, and some sort of coil in him tightens. He pulls out of her grip and grabs for his coat. He can’t stomach a conversation with her. Not now. Not when she sees through him more than anyone he has ever known.

Back on the ship, Kells is on the command deck. Quinlan is by his side, red-faced as he waves a series of files in the Lancer-Captain’s direction.

“... is ridiculous. Surely you see that? My scribes need vertibirds, and they need them _now.”_

Feeling like a child all over again, Arthur presses himself to the wall to block their view of him. Luckily, no one else is around. God only knows how they would respond to their Elder eavesdropping like some curious squire.

“I understand your frustration, Quinlan. But ‘ _give way your suspicions to the wisdom of thine Elder. Where he shows trust, so shall you.’”_

Arthur hears Quinlan’s huffed sigh, and can imagine exactly what he wants to say about that. It would not be anything the Elder hadn’t told himself over the past two weeks. He knows he is being ridiculous. That he is wasting resources and preventing progress on around eighty percent of the chapter’s workload. Field reports are lessening. Soldiers are becoming impatient. A number of fights have almost broken out amongst wound-up Paladins and Knights alike. They cannot go on like this much longer. His position as Elder is wearing dangerously thin. Arthur knows all of this. Hates himself for it more than any of those under his command ever could.

Quinlan is staring at Kells in fury, but dampens his anger when he notices Arthur has stepped into the room. The Elder stands tall, and rests an expectant look on the now embarrassed Proctor's face.

“Is everything alright, Quinlan?”

“Yes, Sir. Just fine. We are making progress with the decryption programme. I am hoping to have it successfully decoded within the week.”

“Excellent work,” Arthur forces a professional smile his way. “Now, I would like to speak with the Lancer-Captain. Dismissed.”

Quinlan looks furious. He gives Maxson a quick salute and then storms out the room. Once they can no longer hear his heavy footsteps, Kells sighs.

“Elder, with all due respect, what _are_ we doing? I understand that we need Sanchez to clarify what happened in the Institute, but at what cost?”

“I am not going to stand here and expect you to feign foolishness, Captain. You know why I must find her. With Paladin Danse AWOL, I know we must be close. He will be with her and, soon, he will bring her back to the Prydwen. In the meantime, it is important that they are able to reach us.”

“They have signal grenades!” He growls, “I am trying here, Sir, but you have _never_ tested the loyalty of your soldiers like this…” Kells seems to remember himself, for he takes a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose - willing himself to calm down. Finally, with a resigned look, he adds: “You are lucky that your name carries the weight it does, Maxson. Otherwise your position would have already been stripped away."

\--

“No.”

Danse pauses the cutting of her food; eyeing her impatiently.

“Uri, I don’t want to imagine how worried Arthur is right now. Your illness is not improving. We need to get you to Cade. _Please.”_

“I’m not going back to the Prydwen.”

“But _why?”_

Fear bubbles in her stomach. Pushes tears to her eyes. The Knight shakes her head.

“I failed. There’s nothing left to fight for. Madison Li is still down there. I didn’t even get far enough to talk to her.”

“Hey,” he drops the cutlery and kneels before her. Gentle hands sit themselves on her shoulders, willing her to meet the warmth of his eyes. “That’s crazy talk, Sanchez. Sure, you didn’t like what you found. But there’s _always_ something to fight for, even if you don’t think there is. People in the Brotherhood… Arthur, Friar, _me_ \- we care about you. We’re here for you. Damnit, Uri. I’m _so_ sorry. What happened down there… It must’ve been soul destroying.”

“I’ve lost him,” she sobs. There. She’s said it. It’s out loud, now. Tears trail down her cheeks as she takes another breath. “My brother’s gone. No one is left. I don’t have a brother. There’s nothing left.”

Once again, Danse feels lost for words. She turns her head to the side - hiding from him. So he lets her, choosing to pull her into a hug until her hiccups lessen and her breathing evens out.

“You’re wrong,” he finally mutters. “You have us, Uri. You failed to find Doctor Li, but Arthur is not going to hate you for that. Knowing him, he already has a backup plan. If that’s what’s stopping you from returning to the Brotherhood… It’s unimportant. Vertibirds pass by every couple hours, now. That takes a lot of time and resources. He just wants to see you. He will not even be _thinking_ about Li.”

Uri takes a moment to consider this. He’s right about the vertibirds - and, the whole time she has sat feeling sorry for herself, Danse has been here. Washing her, feeding her, holding her when she sleeps or cries. She has something, at the very least. At least one person in this broken world that gives a shit about her. Perhaps even _two._ Because _if_ Arthur is furious… He still loves her. He told her as much. But they are easy words to doubt in her current state of mind. Then again, she hasn’t given him the opportunity to prove it. And she really _is_ tired of feeling so ill…

“ _Fine,_ ” she relents, resting her palm against the whiskers of her Paladin’s cheek. “Alright, Danse. You win. I’ll come with you. Get a vertibird or something.”

“Outstanding!” He sighs, full of relief. He’s sifting through her sack in a heartbeat and, as soon as he finds a signal grenade, he’s out the state house like a shot.


	20. Recognition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on such a writing roll right now. If only that applied to the two essays I have due next week...

By the time they reach the Prydwen, the heavens have opened. Not even the deck scribes will brave this storm with its biting winds and pelting rain. Uri shivers in Danse’s arms. He may be a human radiator, but he cannot keep her warm in these conditions. They need to get inside fast.

“Elder Maxson,” Danse says, saluting upon departure. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted,” He murmurs. Trust Danse, despite everything, to stick so strictly to protocol. The Elder does not have the energy to argue with the Paladin right now, but Danse knows from the sour expression his superior wears that this conversation is far from over… He had not told a soul of where he planned to go. It’s the first time the Paladin has ever failed to report for duty. If he was not currently helping Uri off the vertibird he arrived on, Arthur would already have him cuffed for gross misconduct.

“Thanks,” Uri rasps, patting Danse’s hand before drawing away. Her heart hammers louder than the rain around them as she meets Arthur’s eyes, but his anger is already giving way to concern. It’s no wonder why. Danse wore that exact expression upon finding her in the state house. Concern. Fear. _Care._

“ _Jesus_ , Uri,” He gasps, and then he’s _everywhere._ She supposes there’s no need to hide anymore, considering his stunt with the kiss in front of every soldier under his command. He doesn’t kiss her this time, but he draws her into a hug, wrapping his battle coat around them both and flinching as she presses her hands underneath his shirt. “You’re _freezing_ , damnit. Let’s get you inside.”

It’s late, thank the lord. Everyone who _is_ awake pauses upon noticing her, and stares. She can only imagine how much worse that would be if everyone was up and about. Danse has already disappeared into the bowels of the ship, leaving her alone with Arthur. He leads her up to his quarters, where clothes have already been laid out for her. After ordering Delay to refrain from disturbing them in case of an emergency, he locks the door and heads into his bathroom. A heartbeat later, his shower comes to life.

Uri has already sat herself on his couch, but she is not lounging as she usually would. No, her cockiness is non-existent. It almost makes him wonder if the woman before him is even _her._ She sits quietly with her hands in her lap, eyes downcast as though she’s fascinated by her sorry-looking boots, but Arthur knows that she is lost in thought. His chest aches as he fights for something to say… But he doesn’t want to push or pry. Yes, it is important that she debriefs them. But at the expense of her sanity? Judging from her frail stature, her mental capacity is already a loose cannon. Cade is going to have to give her a check up come morning.

“Come,” He almost whispers. Like speaking too loud will scare her away. Uri’s gaze is glassy as she looks his way. Upon seeing him half-naked, gesturing to the bathroom, she starts to undress. He has already lathered up his hair by the time she joins him - surprising him by wrapping her small arms around his abdomen from behind. The tension leaves her body as the hot water sprays down on them. Her cheek comes to rest between his shoulder blades, and Arthur just about catches the sigh that escapes her.

Eventually, he braves turning around. She lessens her grip to allow it, but doesn’t attempt to give him any space. Not that he is complaining. With him shielding her from the water Uri looks up once more, and he’s pleased to see the return of some colour to her cheeks. She lets him wash the irradiated rain water from her hair, and is shocked to find that this is the first time she has felt her body slacken since entering that hellhole below. Here she is, back with Arthur, and he’s not badgering her for information. He is not barking orders in her direction, or playing nice to make up for any misdeeds. No. He’s just _here._ Helping her bathe, peppering kisses across her forehead and letting her hold him when she needs to. His kindness brings tears to her eyes. She’s surprised she has any left in the first place.

“Hey,” he whispers as the first sob rakes through her. Then he pulls her to his chest once more, and she lets go. Of course, she cried in Goodneighbor, but it was mostly silent and tearful. _Now_ is different. She lets go completely, howling into his collar, clinging to him, grounding herself whilst letting the grief and horror and devastation explode within. She is not sure it will ever stop. Whenever she closes her eyes she sees Shaun, with Nate’s face and Nora’s eyes. The way he glared so passively as he explained his pet project. Led her to believe she would find him in time. How he watched her hunt for him. Fighting passionately, enduring blood, sweat and tears to get there… How little he cared when that hurt her. She supposes empathy is something the Institute leave out of the education of their young. No matter. The Shaun she met was not a child. He should have known better.

“ _He_ should have known better,” She hisses, suddenly pulling away. Arthur watches as Uri storms out of the shower, yanking a towel off the rack to wrap around herself as she pads back into his quarters. Confused, he shuts off the water and follows. He is still securing a towel around his waist when he spots her pacing the room. “Here I am, blaming myself, when this was all _him_. This is on him, goddamnit, that little bastard! I should’ve _killed him._ Fuck Kellogg! Fuck letting ‘us’ have justice,” Uri turns to Arthur now, and he flinches from her fury. “Let me kill him. _Please._ Just let me kill him.”

“Is that so wise?” he rumbles. Considering how drained she had been, this sudden switch to live wire is a shock to his system. He has no idea what she’s talking about, but it’s the only reply he can think of. She just growls, and goes back to her pacing.

“Damnit, I ask if I can kill their goddamn leader and you ask me if it’s _wise?_ Only you, Arthur Maxson. Which is fucking ironic, considering your track record. I wanna kill him. I need to be the one to do it, and I need you to make that an order to every fucker who arrived here on this ship.”

“Uri, _stop_ this!”

She pauses, blinking in surprise. Whatever brought on her bout of anger suddenly snaps, and her shoulder slump once more. Arthur realises _he_ caused this. Her lower lip trembles, and he suddenly regrets snapping at her. He’s there in a heartbeat, pulling her towards him and kissing her messy hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re scaring me, is all. You vanished for weeks, and when you return you look as though you’ve not eaten since and you’re spouting all this confusing nonsense about killing their leader, then insulting me. The latter I’m used to, of course, but an explanation would be greatly appreciated.” He kisses her forehead again, then rests his against hers. “I want to help you, love. Let me help you.”

Hearing him call her that sends a strange warmth creeping through her chest and, like she had in the shower, she relaxes into his arms.

“I… I found Shaun,” She whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. She can’t look at him. Not as she tells him the truth. “I _found_ him. And he… He was older. Not ten, but sixty. I was too late. He’s an old man, and he’s been playing with me the whole time,” Her voice cracks, and those damn tears make a comeback. “I’m nothing but a damn lab rat. He only let me out the vault ‘cause he thought I was Nora. As soon as he realised she was gone, he just used me for entertainment. He set up my meeting with Kellogg to get rid of him quick-and-easy, and dressed it up as enacting revenge for his parents. But he didn’t care about them, Arthur. He just… didn’t care. I would’ve thought he was a synth gone wrong, if you couldn’t see Nate and Nora in him. He looked so like them, but they’re gone. And he hasn’t got an ounce of their personalities, damn him. He’s… he’s a nightmare. I wish he were dead. It would’ve been better if… If…”

“Hush, it’s alright,” He soothes, stroking her hair away from the tears streaking her cheeks. It’s a miracle that he can do so, consider the fury burning hot in his chest. “We can talk about this when you’re ready, alright?” He watches her until she nods in response, then smiles. “Good. For the meantime, you need food and rest.”

“I don’t want food,” She huffs. “Just… Lets just lay down.”

“I’ll compromise,” he mutters, rummaging through his personal drawers until he comes across a box of Dandy Boy Apples and a bottle of Nuka Cola Victory. Uri goes to complain, but as soon as she spots the candied apples she reaches out for them. It takes everything he has to stop himself from smirking victoriously.

“You only went and got my favourites,” Uri hums, tugging at one of the six skewered fruits. They don’t taste quite as good as they had back in her day, but the sweet taffy mixed with the juicy apple preserved underneath has her eyes rolling back in pleasure. Arthur merely snorts and nudges her, so she shifts up enough to give him some space. They toss their towels aside and huddle under his blankets. Uri tucks into her second helping, and Arthur uses his teeth to open the bottle of Cola he collected. He quickly takes a swig before Uri can snatch it away, and it’s his turn to sigh in delight.

“Your favourite?” She asks, and he nods. “I always loved the cherry flavour, but they’re a rare find. Bet there’ll be some at Nuka World, though. Wanna send some scribes on recon?”

“Nuka World?”

“Yeah - it’s a theme park not too far from here. I don’t know what state it’ll be in now, but my high school used to take us on field trips there every summer. God only knows who thought mixing all that sugar with rollercoasters was a good idea, but it was always the highlight of my year. Aside from that damned jingle, of course.”

“Jingle?”

Uri makes a show of clearing her throat, and holds her apple to one side.

“What if there was a place with all the zip of Nuka-Cola. Wouldn’t that be the cheer-cheer-cheeriest place in all the world? Where the river’s made of Quantum and the mountaintops are fizz. With fun and games and rides for all the moms and pops and kids--”

“Alright, alright! I’ve got the point!”

“Well it turns out there’s a place with all the zip of Nuka-Cola! Come on down to Nuka-World and see it for yourse--mmhm”

Her lips taste of a sweet, sugary blend of her apples and Cola, and the youngster within Maxson is delighted. She giggles - actually _giggles_ \- against him, and tosses her food aside. The sound spreads hope through his chest, reminding him of the warm sun on his skin. Arthur draws back too soon for his own liking, but he doesn’t want to push her. Not with everything she’s currently going through. With the moment broken, Uri’s smile falters. If kissing him is like a dose of Med-X, ending it is kin to withdrawal. She sighs heavily and snuggles further into his arms.

“Is there anything I can do?” He whispers, tracing patterns on her bare arm. Uri grinds her teeth to fight her tears, and shrugs.

“Don’t think so. Thanks, though. Just being here helps, so you’re doing good.”

“I’m glad,” He kisses her forehead and, when he speaks again, his breath fans against her face in a completely delicious way. “Why did you hide from me? If my presence helps, then why did you not come back to the Prydwen as soon as you left?”

“It’s so _you_ to think I was hiding from you,” She pulls back, rolling her eyes. But her expression is void of anger. “Honestly? I just needed space to be left to grieve, and Goodneighbor’s where you go if you wanna be nobody. Hancock took good care of me - or tried to. It wasn’t until Danse got there that I actually ate anything, and that’s only ‘cause he spoon-fed me,” She chokes on a laugh. “I think he was keeping me alive for you. Funny, in hindsight.”

“ _Not_ funny,” He tightens his hold on her. “Stay alive for _you_.”

“Arthur--”

“No!” He hisses, hating how his throat constricts. Sudden images flash through his mind. Reports that she had been found by Paladin Danse, but he was too late. She had already succumbed to starvation, or alcohol poisoning, or some stupid chem overdose. His breaths turn shallow. Thoughts of Sarah’s funeral flash through his mind. A repetition of that night, only this time he’s lost someone he’ll never recover from. Not Uri. Never Uri.

“Arthur, hey,” She’s cupping his face in her hands, straddling his waist to get better access. His eyes flash open, and her lips fall to his. She’s not dead. She’s here, warm and soft and alive. Relief floods through him, and his hands dance at her hips. His heartbeat softens and breaths deepen until he’s not sure where he ends and she begins. When she stops, the lifeless grief in her eyes is replaced by sheer warmth. He cares. He cares so damn much, and it hits her like a goddamn steam train. “I was stupid,” She whispers, stroking his semi-dry hair out his face. “I was an idiot that thought you’d be mad at me. I never got chance to talk to Madison Li. I only spoke to Shaun and a gen-two synth the whole time I was down there. They were expecting me, so it’s not really that far a stretch to say that they were being careful… Maybe if I wasn’t so high-strung emotionally, I’d’ve been able to infiltrate them. But after seeing Shaun I just wanted to get out of there. I’m sorry.”

“Idiot,” He mutters, then steals another kiss. “I had a back-up plan, of course. You do not become Elder without being tactical. As soon as I received your message, I had a Knight and field Scribe head out to recruit one Professor Scara from Diamond City. She will arrive within the next few days, and work on Liberty Prime can continue.”

“Well, _now_ I feel ridiculous,” Uri mumbles. So Danse had been right. Of course he had. Arthur smirks down at her before shifting her weight off his lap. He tugs on a pair of sweats before tossing one of his shirts her way, hoping the message is clear. He just wants to help her feel better, and he doubts distracting the grieving process with constant sex would help her get through it. With her snacks tossed aside and the last dregs of Nuka Cola gone, Arthur pulls her back to his chest.

“I think I know how to help,” he murmurs, soft and low against the shell of her ear.

“What?”

“When Sarah died, we gave her a real funeral. Just like they did pre-war. She got a casket, we wrapped a brotherhood flag around it. We had speeches and a wake, too… It was the most painful day I can remember, but the next morning I woke up feeling marginally better. Have you considered burying Nate and Nora?"

“‘Course I have, but I couldn’t on my own. Plus, the settlers at Sanctuary aren’t strong enough for that. They’ve been through hell, and I don’t think exposing them to my hellhole vault would help.”

“Alright. Think carefully about our team then, Knight. Tomorrow I will call them to a meeting, and we will head to Sanctuary.”

“Are you sure?” She shifts, turning to face him. “Arthur, you’ve had vertibirds flying off course for two weeks. We haven’t even talked about how ridiculous that was. Surely, leaving the ship now will put your status at some sort of risk?”

“We are heading to a vault, Uri. A cryogenic facility at that. That kind of technology could be hugely beneficial to Cade’s medical work. I assume you will want Friar on the team. Any scribes will be tasked with collecting data, and we can hardly keep the dead in there if we are going to strip the place for information.”

“Wow, Danse was _so_ right,” Uri tries to joke, but her throat is thick with emotion. “Thank you, Arthur. Alright. I’ll have a think.”

“We have time for that,” he whispers, “Get some sleep.”

The following morning, whilst Arthur is at his morning debriefings, Uri sits with a clipboard and pen. The remnants of last night’s rain echo through the Prydwen, causing he to instinctively huddle into the itchy blanket the Elder draped over her as he left. It’s odd to be back. The last time she sat here, she had a clear plan to follow. She had a reason to be part of the Brotherhood. One that she could turn to when their darker views became too much to bear. When she needed a reason to stay...

The clipboard slides across the table as she tosses it aside. She is so damn _tired_ of thinking things through. All she did in Goodneighbor was think, damnit, and look where that got her. She’s almost embarrassed about the state Danse found her in. How dare Shaun make _her_ feel guilty. How dare he have the audacity to mock her, after everything he’s put her through… She wonders if he’s still watching her. _How_ had he been watching her. _Fuck._ If only she’d got a hold of herself sooner. She could have so much information in her hands. All of which she could use to destroy him...

And there it is. Her reason to stay.

Uri chews the inside of her cheek. Thinking it over. She had never joined the Brotherhood to fight for their cause, and Shaun’s revelation has done nothing to change that. She _doesn’t_ agree with what they stand for. It’s something that will never change. Not after spending so much time with Valentine, or seeing Arthur’s almost-guilt at killing Jenny at Greentech. Hancock has shown her nothing but kindness, and Daisy is the closest thing Uri has to a friend when she scrolls through her shortening list of pre-war acquaintances. No. The Brotherhood are wrong. Not about feral ghouls and - from what she has seen thus far - not about super mutants, but synths and ghouls deserve lives just as much as regular human beings.

There is Arthur, of course. Infuriatingly beautiful man that he is. If he hadn’t actually started trying to think about her as well as himself, her departure would be easy. Effortless. She would miss him, but she’s handled worse. She’d get through it. But now? The thought of being without him has her clenching her fists. Pulling the blanket to her face to breathe him in - all whiskey and musk. Honey sweet smiles and warm blue eyes.

Caring about him was effortless. Like a hot knife through pre-war butter. Wanting him was entirely inescapable. From the way he shied away from her advances to the way his confidence has grown, there’s not a physical part of him that doesn’t make her melt. But this… this fear. This _need._ God, even if she hated the Brotherhood she couldn’t leave. Where would she be without his feather-light forehead kisses? Whispered words of comfort and strong arms encompassing her. Everything soft and safe and warm. She had expected to return to frustrated concern. But he is being patient. Thoughtful. _Kind._ It’s everything she had wanted, and now she hates that she’s got it.

Because nothing could make her give him up now.

“Shit,” she hisses. The heel of her palm presses against her forehead as she squeezes her eyes shut. So, it’s decided. She will stay with the Brotherhood, and continue to work for them… But what about the Minutemen? They seem to be thriving under Garvey, but there’s still the Castle to worry about. He’d mentioned it some time ago. A long-term goal for a slowly growing militia. With the amount of settlements siding with them constantly growing, they must have hit a point where they can claim it back now?

She can talk with Preston once they hit Sanctuary. For now, she has a list to make… Well, obviously she wants Arthur and Danse there. Alice, too. With her empathic nature and impressive temper, she trusts her to respect the vault’s memory. Also Haylen, who is very similar to Alice in that regard. Delecroix will be a well needed spark of humour in a very dark place. Oh, and Rhys, so Del has a target for his torment.

Uri pauses to count the names. Seven of them, including herself. She could do with one more to fill the last space on the second vertibird…

“Quinlan?” Arthur arches a disbelieving brow.

“A tactical choice, Sir,” She lowers her coffee mug to throw him a sweetened smirk. “I suspect he has been less than pleased with your disregard for mission protocol, as of late. Keep your friends close and enemies closer.”

“Hmm…” His stormy eyes consider her, and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “If not for your blatant disrespect of my orders, I would compliment your strategic prowess.”

“Gotta keep my Elder grounded,” she shrugs.

The Lancer-Pilots must be excited to fly routes other than those Arthur has had them covering the past couple of weeks, because they make it to Sanctuary in excellent time. Preston greets them at the gates, having been informed of their arrival via radio transmission before leaving the Prydwen. However, it is not the Colonel that is the first to greet them.

“Dogmeat!” Uri yells, throwing out her arms for the German Shepherd bounding towards her. Everyone in their group is too startled to do much. Except Arthur, who turns to her in disbelief.

“Knight! There is no way on _Earth_ that you can--” Uri cries out as Dogmeat pounces on her, throwing them both to the ground. Arthur and his soldiers all flinch, but Uri is giggling as she scratches at the shaggy dog’s fur. He was going to say 'carry the weight of that thing,’ but it seems that she doesn't care.

“Who’s my favourite boy, huh? _You_ are! Yes _you,_ my baby! I missed you too!”

Arthur hears Delecroix mutter something under his breath, which results in Friar winding him with an elbow to the stomach. The others around them chuckle, with the exception of Quinlan. He is eyeing the gates of the settlement; presumably questioning their defences. As Garvey reaches them, he extends a hand to the Elder.

“Welcome back,” He says, flashing them a false smile. “The General told me you’d be joining us.”

“Hey!” Uri bounces up to drag Garvey into a hug, and Arthur wants to flinch at how out of the loop his soldiers are. He can feel their accusatory gazes burning his back, so he clears his throat.

“If you would point us in the direction of where we shall be staying, Knight Sanchez can catch you up with our mission here.”

“Of course! Please, come on in.”

The last time Uri was here, the settlers seemed pleased to see her. Now, however, they eye the Brotherhood squad with hostility - even her, in her flight suit and combat armour. She quickly shows Quinlan, Danse, Haylen and Rhys to the refurbished house next door, then leads Arthur, Delecroix and Alice to the Jones’ old home.

“Alice, Del - your room’s this one,” she gestures to the bunk beds, stepping out the doorway opposite so Arthur can dump his duffel bag in the space beside hers and - oh, the effort Delecroix exerts not to crack a joke. She can see his left eye twitch in concentration, and Uri finds herself bursting into a fit of giggles.

“What’s the matter?” Arthur asks, narrowing his gaze in suspicion. Delecroix says nothing - he just shakes his head before shuffling deeper into the room, revealing a very unamused Alice.

“If you get him in trouble, Sanchez, I’ll be sure Elder Maxson _knows_ who caused it.”

“Elder Maxson would like to be filled in on what he’s missing,” Arthur tries. As much as Alice’s back straightens and cheeks flush, she shakes her head.

“Nothing that will impact our goal here, Sir. Nevermind.”

As Uri sits Preston down in the living room, Arthur begins to change. It was his first order to everyone upon arrival - to swap out of their Brotherhood gear for the duration of their stay. He is hoping they will only be here a night or two; but he does not want to run the risk of rushing Uri through the grieving process. Yes, this is cutting into time that could be spent preparing for war - but this is a battle that cannot be won through physical means. They could get Scara back today, force her to overwork herself on Prime and smash their way into the Institute in a couple days time, but that would be reckless. Part of Arthur wishes that suggesting the funeral was entirely for Uri's benefit, but that would be a lie. Of course, her well-being is an enormous priority, but so too is getting her to a point where she can freely discuss what she saw inside. All he currently knows is that Shaun is the man in charge. Helpful, but not at all enough to go on.

Uri stumbles back into their room with tears streaming down her face, and Arthur instantly pulls her close. They miss that the door has been left open, therefore neither notice Alice or Delecroix watching the exchange.

“I think something's happened,” Alice murmurs, perching on the bunk she has claimed as her own. “I mean, I know that’s obvious. But I mean something more than just collecting cryo tech and setting up shop in a vault.”

“I figured as much,” Delecroix nods. He leans against the old window frame and watches the farmers at work, now wearing a pair of frayed jeans and a stained shirt. His earlier, breezy mood disappears for the remainder of the day. It’s spent on introductions, explanations and planning. They eventually reach the nitty gritty details about the vault itself. It’s with heavy hearts that Alice, Delecroix and their fellow soldiers finally find out why their Elder and a Knight know so much about this particular vault.

“There’s something you all need to know, before we go down there. Vault one-eleven is the vault I came from. I… It’s not just a place where cryo tech was worked on. The scientists used my vault to test it out, and I was one of the subjects…” She stares down at her feet, wringing her hands as she takes a deep, shaky breath. “I was cryogenically frozen for two-hundred-odd years. The bodies we’re gonna find down there… They were my neighbours. Vault one-eleven wasn’t used to build a better future underground. It was used as an experiment on the pre-war residents of Sanctuary Hills. So this place… This is my home. This is where I lived before the bombs dropped.”


	21. Fix You

It’s as though the storm never existed. The following morning, sunlight beams through the ratty holes in Uri’s salvaged USA flag-turned-curtains. She could lay there moping forever if the other side of the bed wasn’t empty... Telling the others about her past took a toll on her; she wasn’t confident she’d even wake up till early afternoon, but her Pip-Boy reads 7:47am and Arthur is nowhere to be seen. Before Uri can start questioning his whereabouts, a series of clatters echo through the house, quickly followed by a string of curses. With a threat of a smile, she climbs out of bed and slips on her beloved vault suit.

“Sir, I would be delighted to make breakfast if you would stand aside--”

“No, Codsworth. It’s alright. I just… I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with all these cupboards. Preserving pre-war kitchens isn’t exactly the Brotherhood’s main priority.”

“Thank god it’s not,” Uri snorts, capturing their attention. Arthur is just turning to her when she slides past him. She scoops up the fallen plates from the ground, thanking her past self for collecting plastic kitchenware over ceramic.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up so early,” the Elder comments, propping open the correct cupboard for her. Uri returns the plates to their designated place and thanks him with a kiss to his cheek.

“Neither was I, but I’m here. Hey, Codsworth. How’re things?”

“Oh,” the Mr Handy sighs, “They could be better, Miss Sanchez. Colonel Garvey told me about Shaun… I… I’m awfully sorry. I fear that I am partially to blame. I had considered attempting to enter the Vault so many times. If I had only--”

“Hey,” Uri’s voice breaks as she presses her palms against the bot’s cylindrical body, treating it as she would the face of a panicked friend. “You can’t blame yourself. I’m pretty sure cracking open vaults goes against a dozen of your protocols. For all you knew, you’d’ve been putting the residents in danger. You had no way of knowing what Vault-Tec had planned for us, Codsworth. Please don’t blame yourself.”

He makes a noise kin to a sniffle, but bobs his middle eye in a singular nod. Understanding this as an agreement, she moves away. A false smile adorns her face as she looks at him.

“Now, I’d be delighted if you'd cook us up some breakfast. Not that I don’t trust you in my kitchen, Arthur, but… Well, I don’t trust you in my kitchen.”

“Nor do I,” He chuckles, electing to play along. Codsworth begins working his magic, and Uri tugs the Elder out to her makeshift porch. It’s nothing more than a rickety bench covered with a sleeping bag and old oil lantern sat on a rotting crate, but it’s a porch all the same. So far, only the farmers have begun their work for the day. A couple of guards stand rubbing tired eyes and stifling yawns, probably counting down the seconds until their shifts end. Diamond City Radio floats out of the main house, but it’s far too quiet for Uri to make out which song is playing. With a sigh, she snuggles into Arthur’s side, resting her cheek against the fur of his coat collar. His hand rests against her shoulder, drawing her closer.

“I haven’t thanked you, yet,” She murmurs. “You didn’t have to do all this. You know that, right?”

“Uri, please,” He pulls back to meet her eyes, but finds himself unable to stop from cupping her face in his palm. She’s so damn small. It’s entirely endearing. “Anything I can do to help, I’ll do. Don’t worry about me.”

“But you’re Elder - you’ve got duties. Important, man-in-charge duties. I know I crack jokes about it all, but I do get it. You’re pretty vital to the whole Brotherhood machine. You shouldn’t be wasting time on--”

Kissing her to shut her up is starting to become a thing, but Uri finds she’s not at all against it. It’s chaste and gentle, but it soothes the anxiety. Abolishing the sharpness of her breath and tension from her body. She wants to deepen it. To clutch at his coat and bite at his lip, but someone coughs from down the path. Arthur turns his head to the side, then nods in greeting.

“Good morning, Proctor. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you. I…” Hearing him pause for even a fraction of a second has Uri turning to Quinlan. He looks as grumpy as always, but she’d have to be blind to miss the flush in his cheeks. “Apologies for disturbing you. I merely wanted to ask Knight Sanchez about the Minutemen archives.”

“ _Me?_ Oh. I don’t actually know much about them. The Minutemen don’t care about preserving old-world stuff as much as protecting today’s settlements. Now that you mention it, though, Preston has mentioned some sort of Castle they used to have during their powerhouse days. We could ask him about it, after today’s work is done.”

“Excellent,” He nods, glancing at everything but the duo sat cosily on the bench before him. Uri notices that Arthur hasn’t made any attempt to put a professional distance between them. Her stomach flutters in glee. “With your permission, Elder, I would like to analyse the grounds on which the vault was based? It could prove beneficial to gain a head start on our project.”

“Of course, Proctor. Permission granted.”

They both watch him scurry down the road, taking note of how he doesn’t look back. Uri is still shocked about him actually wanting to ask her for something so openly - usually he just hints until she relents; so she’s surprised when Arthur begins to chuckle.

“I fear the Proctor is going to be rather embarrassed for the remainder of our time here.”

“Why?"

“I suppose it may have _something_ to do with watching his superior kiss his favourite Knight,” he drawls, leaning closer - a mischievous glint enters his eyes. “I’m afraid he’ll have to get used to it.”

“I didn’t take you as the PDA type,” She snorts.

“PDA?”

“Public displays of affection. Y’know, making out in public. Or more. The kinda stuff people generally get uncomfortable around.”

“Not exactly my style,” He says, frowning at the concept. “But you make that rather difficult to stick to.”

“Stop,” she sighs as he tries to kiss her again. Uri shoves him back to the other side of the bench, but he’s having none of it. He proceeds to grab her by the waist, closing the distance between them. She squeaks in surprise, and both laugh as his lips meet hers once more.

“Gross,” they hear one of the farmers snort. Neither of them cares. Arthur is just happy to hear Uri laugh again, and Uri’s heartbeat flutters far too much for her to worry about their positions. Elder, General, Knight… She wants to be Uri and Arthur for a while. Just a little while. Just long enough for it to take the edge off of her grief. Surely that’s not too much to ask?

The others start filtering through in the next half-hour. First there’s Alice, who accepts her coffee and mirelurk omelette with a level of excitement that cracks Uri up. Unsurprisingly, Delecroix is the last to awaken. He rushes into the sitting room half-dressed, bleary-eyed and in a state of panic.

“I’m so sorry! I slept in! Damnit, Friar. You never woke me!”

“I didn’t realise I was your mother, Knight Delecroix,” Alice huffs, folding her arms in dismay. Uri laughs from her spot at the kitchen island, where she sits nursing her second mug of coffee. Arthur can tell that her response is forced, and he hates it. He wishes there was something he could do. The only time she seems to genuinely express anything other than heartache is when they are alone… sadly, this task is far from a two-man job. They have had to ask Preston for volunteers to help and, as irritable as the settlers are regarding their temporary Brotherhood neighbours, they give Uri their condolences whilst offering to assist. A number of them have been digging out graves all morning. Quinlan is already down there with Haylen, passing up numbers of casualties and the like through more intelligence-based volunteers.

“You don’t have to go down there, you know?” Arthur rumbles, picking up how her breath shortens as they head up that dreaded hillside. The others have gone on ahead, and that goddamn siren is blasting through the perimeter, and Uri shakes her head. Flashes of that very first time stand poised, threatening to push her back in time. She wants to be strong. This isn’t the only time she’s made this journey since leaving the vault, after all… But something about seeing Shaun again - seeing what he has become - has this feeling harder than it ever did before. She goes to take a breath. She wants to tell him she’s going back, but she’s broke down in tears before she can register what’s happening.

It’s not a pretty sight. The others must be terrified. She can hear Arthur’s attempts to comfort her, but she feels miles away. Like she’s been left in a tunnel. Her heart is in her throat, thudding harshly as sobs claw their way out of her chest. Her hands are shaking. When she closes her eyes, those same sirens are sounding. People are screaming. The trees are full of greens and yellows and reds. The sky is clear. They were supposed to take Shaun to the park, that day. Nate was going to give his speech. Halloween. October. 2077.

Flashbacks. It must have been, because Uri can’t remember the trip back to her house. She sits up suddenly, gasping for breath. She dreamt they’d froze her again. But before she can scream, a familiar set of hands snake around her wrists.

“Uri, you’re here. We’re in Sanctuary, but it’s twenty-two-seventy-eight. You’re alive, you’re not in the vault anymore. And, let me tell you, I had a hell of a journey getting back here. Daisy sent a message through Carla. I had to go to Goodneighbor on my own.”

“Hmm?” She blinks, and the blind spots in her vision lessen. MacCready snorts.

“Yeah, whilst you were up on that glorified penis pump, I was scrounging through the wastes. Darn it, hotshot. How’d we end up like this?”

“Goodneighbour?” She frowns, stable enough to look at him. He’s smiling. “Why’d you go there?”

“He’s here, Ur. Duncan. He made it to the Commonwealth. The trader who took him the cure - he begged to come live here. To come see me. Said he was gonna make the trip himself, if he had to. So I had to go get him.”

“Oh my God,” she blinks, and she’s back. Back in 2287. MacCready is sat by her bedside, still clutching her wrists. Grounding her. Despite everything - the grief like tar in her chest, the flashbacks burning hot and bright in the back of her mind, she throws herself into his arms. She’s laughing, and he’s laughing too. She almost knocks his chair over with the added weight, but neither of them care. His arms tighten around her, and _damnit_ he feels like home.

“It’s been too long,” she says finally, drawing back to smile down at him. Her eyes are a cocktail of joy and pain. He nods.

“You’re telling me. Been a lonely road without ya. I, uh… Preston told me about the Institute.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” She sniffles, shifting off of his lap. There’s a bowl full of purified water on her nightstand; Uri dips a rag into it, wiping away the leftover salt from her tears. Mac nods in understanding and pushes himself up with a groan.

“Alright, how about we walk? Could do with heading into Concord, if you’re up for it?”

“Sounds great. Let's hope there’s something for me to kill.”

“The healthiest of coping mechanisms.”

“Don’t stand there acting like you wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing, _Mercenary._ ”

“Okay, _owch._ Anyway, it’s mister mercenary to you, _Knight_.”

“Touchè.”

Someone must’ve had a stern word with the settlers - or maybe they just took pity upon finding out about Uri’s reason for coming back - because the farmworkers don’t stare at her this time. No Brotherhood member is anywhere to be seen, so Uri assumes they’re still down there… Mac must still recognise every damn mannerism she has. What they mean. When she shudders he is quick to lace her fingers through her own.

“So, where’s Dunc now?” Uri asks, glancing up at the hillside - staving off her guilt. She can’t feel _this_ right now. Not on top of everything else. Arthur would understand if she just told him the truth--

“He hangs out with Sturges, mostly. He’s the only kid in Sanctuary right now, so he’s taking lessons in mechanics until Garvey can get some sorta school set up. They wanna wait till we’ve taken the castle back, though, 'cause it’ll be much safer to keep a bunch of young 'uns there,” his lips quip into a mischievous grin, “got nothin’ like Little Lamplight round these parts, sadly. The kids just have to put up with us mungos.”

“I doubt he cares about that,” Uri rolls her eyes. This is easy. Small talk with someone who just fits like an old pair of boots. They pass the guards by the gates, who wave them off impatiently. “From the sound of it, he’s just glad to have his Dad back.”

“God knows why,” he snorts, almost to himself. Instead of offering solace, Uri whacks his arm with _Buster’s_ hilt. He yelps.

“Get a grip, moron. You got that cure, so you can quit with that woe-is-me crap.”

“Shut your mouth,” he grumbles, but his eyes dance with amusement and _God_ , she’s missed this. They reach Concord pretty quick and, although it’s been cleared out already, they click safety off and scour the area.

No surprise raiders or feral ghouls. Hell, there isn’t even a stray radroach to pop some lead into. The vault dweller grinds her teeth, standing guard as Mac heads into an old nursery. When he returns he’s got a stash of supplies for Duncan - old books on the alphabet, semi-preserved toy cars and the like. He looks ready to head home, but Uri is dawdling outside one of the old stores.

“Rita lived here,” she murmurs as he approaches. Her eyes never leave the blown-out windows of the second floor. “Up above the shoe shop in a run-down apartment. Her dad cooked up the _best_ homemade pizzas. She was training to be a nurse. Was due to head over to Canada next month…”

It does get easier. She knows this. She’s _felt_ it, but that monster has pushed months of progress back. Uri’s chest heaves, and she makes a break for the nearest trash can. She’s not sure why. An old-world habit, maybe? She doesn’t need to worry anymore. No one is around to complain about her vomit staining the street anymore. Oh, those college parties they used to crash…

“Ur,” Mac sounds heartbroken, and it doesn’t help in the slightest. She doesn’t _want this_ anymore.

“Fuck the fucking wasteland!” She growls, spotting a wooden pillar for a nearby porch. It breaks off with ease, instantly giving her a decent sized melee weapon. With nothing to fight, she begins swinging it against what remains of the post. “Stupid - fucking - governments! Stupid fucking _scientists_ with their bombs and _Goddamn_ oil fetish!” The pillar has splintered away, so she looks for something to kick. Mac obviously catches wind of this, 'cause he’s quick to grab her arms - pinning them to her sides and forcing her to look at him.

“Breaking your foot won’t go back in time and stop the war, idiot! Just breathe… Just _breathe_.”

“All I _fucking_ do is breathe. I breathe and it stinks of ozone and dirt and death. Rotting corpses and brahmin shit. I don’t _want to._ ”

“You learn nothin’ from the bombs, Ur? Life is sh-- crap, and then you die. Just gotta keep getting by. Find things worth living for.”

It’s ridiculous. She shouldn’t find it funny, but Mac’s horrible attempt at a pep-talk has her snorting.

“Alright, what’d I say?”

“You - you're the _worst_ motivational speaker I have _ever_ heard!” She cackles. A real laugh. “Jesus, Mac. You really - really opened my eyes. Doesn’t matter that my world died without me, anymore.”

“Oh, man. I forgot you were a comedian. Come on, hotshot, let’s get back before your pretty Elder starts worrying about ya.”

“Wait…” Her laughter dies. She watches him pick up his haul with a surprised stare. “How did you--?”

“C’mon, Ur. The guy looked like he wanted to rip my throat out the second he saw me. I’m an idiot, sure, but I’m not dense. He’s got it bad.”

“I…” she rubs her neck, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “I haven’t actually told him. About us. About before.”

“ _What_? I’m almost offended. Was I really that bad?”

“Shut _up_ , you know it wasn’t you.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what they always say.”

“I swear to God I’ll push you over Sanctuary’s bridge if you keep snarking me.”

“What was that saying you once used? Brahmin calling the cow?”

“Shut _up_.”

“How’d you actually meet the guy, anyway?”

“Mac, is this conversation a good idea!”

He shrugs as much as he can with his pack weighing him down, “Probably not, but I’m curious.”

“I met him at Bunker hill. He was in a spot of trouble after that big battle with the Railroad and Synths - I helped him get back to the Prydwen.”

“It has a _name_? Sweet baby Jesus mother of--”

“If you’re gonna be a smart ass I’ll stop.”

“No, no. Okay. I’m _sorry_.”

“Well… That’s it, really. I helped him back, he gave me a Knighthood and they helped me get into the Institute.”

“Was all of that before or after you jumped on his little Prydwen?”

Uri re-enters Sanctuary with a smug smile, despite everything, and a very sodden MacCready hot on her tail.

“Alright, okay, I deserved that. But I’m not finished!” He jogs to catch up, “I have _questions_ that need _answers_.”

“I swear to God, if you’re gonna ask me about-- oh, Arthur. Hi.”

“You left,” he states simply, finishing the last dregs of whiskey from his glass. Something about his gaze makes the duo feel like kids caught with their hands in a candy jar, because neither moves from the spot they froze in.

“I did,” she nods, “I - Mac wanted to run into town. His son’s here, so we got him some supplies. Don’t worry, there were no raiders or anything.”

“Good job, too,” MacCready snorts, then grunts as she plants her elbow into his stomach. Arthur raises a brow, but doesn’t comment.

“Our group have almost finished collecting the dead. I just wanted to let you know. It’s almost time.”

Uri nods. All humour drains from her face. For a moment Arthur looks like he wants to say something, but he snaps out of it as MacCready makes a show of straightening his stance.

“I’m just gonna… I want to head inside for a minute. Grab some things. I’ll meet you there.”

With a nod, Arthur leaves them too it - heading back to the hillside, where Uri supposes he will help bring the coffins down to the old tree. In her current state, she doesn’t notice that he’s not wearing his coat. Or the way Mac stares on after him.

“Holy _heck_ ,” He leans in to whisper his words. “I see it, now.”

“See _what_?”

“The reason you wanna bed him, obviously,” Mac’s eyes glimmer with glee as he adds: “have you seen his _ass_? I’d sign my life away to the Brotherhood for that, too.”

\--

Uri stands with Arthur, clutching an old diploma and a trifold flag. The residents of Sanctuary hills have all been buried. They decided to place their graves a little further out, but two spots have been dug out underneath the long-dead tree. Their coffins lay side-by-side. Together in life and in death; exactly where they belong.

Her heart falls heavy as she thinks of her Uncle. Hawthorne had been a deadbeat parental figure, but he cared in his own way. He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to be obliterated. There have been times where she wondered if he _did_ make it; turned into a ghoul after finding shelter somewhere. It seems unlikely, though. He couldn’t so much as cook salisbury steak without making it inedible. Uri finds it hard to believe he could ever have made it out in the wasteland.

Never mind.

Once the group memorial was over, everyone scurried off. Giving Uri the privacy she needs to do this. She looks out to the sunset instead. How can it still be so beautiful? Her heart is on fire. She should be seeing everything in black and white. Yet there’s so much colour. A dizzying juxtaposition to the hollow darkness in her chest.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispers, her voice barely carrying over the distant sound of gardening tools at work. Arthur had been staring down at his clasped hands, but he looks up at her now - stormy eyes swirling with _something_ that reminds her that he’s no stranger to grief. And then she’s turning, stepping forward to sit cross-legged between their graves, placing the trifold flag atop Nate’s coffin.

“War never changes,” She whispers, a secret between them. Uri laughs silently for a moment, remembering that glare he’d throw her in response. “You weren’t wrong, Nate. It doesn’t. There’s always heartbreaks, betrayals. Always someone left behind… In this case, that someone was me. Everyone left, and I’m on my own.”

She turns to Nora’s coffin next, and places the diploma down where it belongs.

“Seeing Shaun again - it brought it all back. I thought maybe I could fix things. Put our family back together again.”

She can’t _breathe_. Every time she blinks, tears fall. The hole in her chest is on _fire_. It should all be black and white. Everything’s dead. Her world is dead.

“When I close my eyes, I still see you guys. S-see my life before all of _this_ … Before the bombs. When things that didn’t matter were my biggest troubles, and stuff that _really_ mattered was out of my hands,” she scrubs at the tears on her face and sniffs, pausing to catch her breath. How does she manage when her lungs don’t want to? Everything’s on autopilot. She doesn’t want to keep moving, but her body does anyway.

“Things can change so fast, whether or not you’re ready. I keep going. I did for Shaun, and now I will for you. Nate, I got Kellogg. But Nora… I _promise_ you, I’ll get you justice. The world's not all diplomatic like you were, but I’ll make sure they pay for this.”

Despite the rush of anger, Uri’s voice cracks as she shuffles closer to Nora’s grave.

“ _This_ … this violent, dead world wasn’t what I wanted, but I woke up here anyway. I ask myself everyday why it was me. It should’ve been you… God, it should’ve been you. I wish you could tell me what to do, Nor. The Commonwealth’s been ripped apart and put back together, and here I thought… I _hoped_ I could find Shaun. Cheat time. Make us whole again… The way we _were_ …”

Uri shakes her head, fast and wild, trembling with the effort of her sobs. She has buried too many people. How many more deaths can she take? How much loss and grief and devastation can one person live through? She doesn’t understand. She wishes that she could understand why - _why_ her? Why is she still alive when everyone and everything is dead? It’s not fair. It’s not fair on the people who’d actually do something worthwhile in this hellhole. She’s just a woman. One stupid, immature, sarcastic woman who wouldn’t have lasted five minutes out here without help.

But then she thinks of that very first battle, when she got to Concord and saved the Minutemen. The way they flocked to her as their leader - how she helped save settlements, take down raiders, super mutants and ferals to pave the way for Preston. How she lead Piper down to that tube station to save Nick Valentine, how they partnered up to track the man who plagued her nightmares. Her time with MacCready. Wonderful MacCready, with a nature just like hers but so much better - how they got the cure for Duncan. How, with her help, he will live. She has changed lives out here. Whether she feels she deserved this second chance or not, she has done _good_. And now, with the Brotherhood by her side...

“I know I can’t go back,” She adds, hiccuping her words. “I know the world has changed... The road ahead will be hard, but this time I’m ready. We’ll put a stop to the Institute. Not just for you guys, but for everyone else in Sanctuary Hills. For everyone still living through their bullshit. We’ll finish this and, hopefully, it’ll pave the way for a better future. I _promise_ you: I’ll do whatever it takes to rid the Commonwealth of those monsters… Sleep tight, Jones’.”

Arthur didn’t catch her speech, but he’s surprised to see her rise with a resolute expression. She grabs the two spades stood by the tree, heads over to him and rises on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. Soft, sweet and full of sadness. He cups her cheek as though she’s made of porcelain, and wipes the stray tears that continue to fall.

“C’mon,” She croaks, drawing back to look at the two holes. “Let’s get these filled. We’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super emotional to write, I drew off a lot of memories from post-Manc attack to get the emotions right - so I hope I did it justice. 
> 
> THIS IS THE END OF THE SECOND FIC OF THE SERIES!!! I can't believe how much I've written, I've never stuck with a fic like this one, so thank you to each and every person still reading along! Don't fret, my friends, I have at least two more fics planned as part of this series - both of which are gonna be super long and extra fun to write. I'll see you very soon with the third instalment! Much love <3


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